The Princess Bride

Wyatt looked uncomfortable. “Well…I came in a truck,” he began.

“We’ll take my Jag.”

“You’ve got a Jaguar?”

She didn’t need to say another word. Without even a glance in King’s direction, she waved at her father and blew him a kiss, dragging Wyatt along behind her toward the front door. Not that he needed much coaxing. He seemed overwhelmed when she tossed him the keys and climbed into the passenger seat of the sleek red car.

“You mean, I can drive this?” he burst out.

“Sure. Go ahead. It’s insured. But I like to go fast, Wyatt,” she said. And for tonight, that was true. She was sick of the party, sick of King, sick of her life. She hurt in ways she’d never realized she could. She only wanted to get away, to escape.

He started the car and stood down on the accelerator. Tiffany had her window down, letting the breeze whip through her hair. She deliberately pulled out the diamond hairpins and tucked them into her purse, letting her long, black hair free and fly on the wind. The champagne she’d had to drink was beginning to take effect and was making her feel very good indeed. The speed of the elegant little car added to her false euphoria. Why, she didn’t care about King’s indifference. She didn’t care at all!

“What a car!” Wyatt breathed, wheeling it out onto the main road.

“Isn’t it, though?” she laughed. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t think about King. “Go faster, Wyatt, we’re positively crawling! I love speed, don’t you?”

Of course he did. And he didn’t need a second prompting. He put the accelerator peddle to the floor, and twelve cylinders jumped into play as the elegant vehicle shot forward like its sleek and dangerous namesake.

She laughed, silvery bells in the darkness, enjoying the unbridled speed, the fury of motion. Yes, this would blow away all the cobwebs, all the hurt, this would…!

The sound of sirens behind them brought her to her senses. She glanced over the seat and saw blue bubbles spinning around, atop a police car.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, where did he come from!” she gasped. “I never saw the car. They must parachute down from treetops,” she muttered, and then giggled at her own remark.

Wyatt slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder, his face rapidly becoming the color of his hair. He glanced at Tiffany. “Gosh, I’m sorry. And on your birthday, too!”

“I don’t care. I told you to do it,” she reminded him.

A tall policeman came to the side of the car and watched Wyatt fumble to power the window down.

“Good God. Wyatt?” the officer gasped.

“That’s right, Bill,” Wyatt sighed, producing his driver’s license. “Tiffany Blair, this is Bill Harris. He’s one of our newest local policemen and a cousin of mine.”

“Nice to meet you, officer—although I wish it was under better circumstances,” Tiffany said with a weak smile. “I should get the ticket, not Wyatt. It’s my car, and I asked him to go faster.”

“I clocked you at eighty-five, you know,” he told Wyatt gently. “I sure do hate to do this, Wyatt. Mr. Clark is going to be pretty sore at you. He just had a mouthful to say about speeders.”

“The mayor hates me anyway,” Wyatt groaned.

“I won’t tell him you got a ticket if you don’t.” Bill grinned.

“Want to bet he’ll find out anyway? Just wait.”

“It’s all my fault,” Tiffany muttered. “And it’s my birthday…!”

A sleek, new black European sports car slid in behind the police car and came to a smooth, instant stop. A minute later, King got out and came along to join the small group.

“What’s the trouble, Bill?” he asked the policeman.

“They were speeding, Mr. Marshall,” the officer said. “I’ll have to give him a ticket. He was mortally flying.”

“I can guess why,” King mused, staring past Wyatt at a pale Tiffany.

“Nobody held a gun on me,” Wyatt said gently. “It’s my own fault. I could have refused.”

“The first lesson of responsibility,” King agreed. “Learning to say no. Come on, Tiffany. You’ve caused enough trouble for one night. I’ll drop you off on my way out.”

“I won’t go one step with you, King…!” she began furiously.

He went around to the passenger side of the Jag, opened the door, and tugged her out. His lean, steely fingers on her bare arm raised chills of excitement where they touched. “I don’t have time to argue. You’ve managed to get Wyatt in enough trouble.” He turned to Wyatt. “If you’ll bring the Jag back, I think your cousin is ready to leave. Sorry to spoil your evening.”

“It wasn’t spoiled at all, Mr. Marshall,” Wyatt said with a smile at Tiffany. “Except for the speeding ticket, I enjoyed every minute of it!”

“I did, too, Wyatt,” Tiffany said. “I…King, will you stop dragging me?”

“No. Good night, Wyatt. Bill.”

A chorus of good-nights broke the silence as King led an unwilling, sullen Tiffany back to his own leathertrimmed sports car. He helped her inside, got in under the wheel and started the powerful engine.

“I hate you, King,” she ground out as he pulled onto the highway.

“Which is no reason at all for making a criminal of Wyatt.”

She glared at him hotly through the darkness. “I did not make him a criminal! I only offered to let him drive the Jaguar.”

“And told him how fast to go?”

“He wasn’t complaining!”

He glanced sideways at her. Despite the rigid set of her body, and the temper on that lovely face, she excited him. One diamanté strap was halfway down a silky smooth arm, revealing more than a little of a tip-tilted breast. The silk fabric outlined every curve of her body, and he could smell the floral perfume that wafted around her like a seductive cloud. She put his teeth on edge, and it irritated him beyond all reason.

He lit a cigarette that he didn’t even want, and abruptly put it out, remembering belatedly that he’d quit smoking just last week. And he was driving faster than he normally did. “I don’t know why in hell you invited me over here,” he said curtly, “if you planned to spend the whole evening with the damned city clerk.”

“Assistant city clerk,” she mumbled. She darted a glance at him and pressed a strand of long hair away from her mouth. He looked irritated. His face was harder than usual, and he was driving just as fast as Wyatt had been.

“Whatever the hell he is.”

“I didn’t realize you’d even noticed what I was doing, King,” she replied sweetly, “what with Wyatt’s pretty little cousin wrapped around you like a ribbon.”

His eyebrows arched. “Wrapped around me?”

“Wasn’t she?” she asked, averting her face. “Sorry. It seemed like it to me.”

He pulled the car onto the side of the road and turned toward her, letting the engine idle. The hand holding the steering wheel clenched, but his dark eyes were steady on hers; she could see them in the light from the instrument panel.

“Were you jealous, honey?” he taunted, in a tone she’d never heard him use. It was deep and smooth and low-pitched. It made her young body tingle in the oddest way.

“I thought you were supposed to be my guest, that’s all,” she faltered.

“That’s what I thought, too, until you started vamping Wyatt whats-his-name.”

His finger toyed with the diamanté strap that had fallen onto her arm. She reached to tug it up, but his lean, hard fingers were suddenly there, preventing her.

Her eyes levered up to meet his quizzically, and in the silence of the car, she could hear her own heartbeat, like a faint drum.

The lean forefinger traced the strap from back to front, softly brushing skin that had never known a man’s touch before. She stiffened a little, to feel it so lightly tracing the slope of her breast.

“They…they’ll miss us,” she said in a voice that sounded wildly high-pitched and frightened.

“Think so?”

He smiled slowly, because he was exciting her, and he liked it. He could see her breasts rising and falling with quick, jerky breaths. He could see her nipples peaking under that silky soft fabric. The pulse in her throat was quick, too, throbbing. She was coming-of-age tonight, in more ways than one.

He reached beside him and slowly, blatantly, turned off the engine before he turned back to Tiffany. There was a full moon, and the light of it and the subdued light of the instrument panel gave him all the illumination he needed.

“King,” she whispered shakily.

“Don’t panic,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be delicious.”

She watched his hand move, as if she were paralyzed. It drew the strap even further off her arm, slowly, relentlessly, tugging until that side of her silky bodice fell to the hard tip of her nipple. And then he gave it a whisper of a push and it fell completely away, baring her pretty pink breast to eyes that had seen more than their share of women. But this was different. This was Tiffany, who was virginal and young and completely without experience.

That knowledge hardened his body. His lean fingers traced her collarbone, his eyes lifted to search her quiet, faintly shocked face. Her eyes were enormous. Probably this was all new to her, and perhaps a little frightening as well.

“You’re of age, now. It has to happen with someone,” he said.

“Then…I want it to happen…with you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, like her body.

His pulse jumped. His eyes darkened, glittered. “Do you? I wonder if you realize what you’re getting into,” he murmured. He bent toward her, noticing her sudden tension, her wide-eyed apprehension. He checked the slow movement, for an instant; long enough to whisper, “I won’t hurt you.”

She leaned back against the leather seat as he turned toward her, her body tautening, trembling a little. But it wasn’t fear that motivated her. As she met his smoldering eyes, she slowly arched her back, to let the rest of the bodice fall, and saw the male desire in his dark eyes as they looked down at what the movement had uncovered.

“Your breasts are exquisite,” he said absently, that tracing hand moving slowly, tenderly, down one tip-tilted slope, making her shudder. “Perfect.”

“They ache,” she whispered on a sob, her eyes half closed, in thrall to some physical paralysis that made her throb all over with exquisite sensations.

“I can do something about that,” he mused with a brief smile.

His forefinger found the very tip of one small breast and traced around it gently, watching it go even harder, feeling it shudder with the tiny consummation. He heard the faint gasp break from her lips and looked up at her face, at her wide, misty eyes.

“Yes,” he said, as if her expression told him everything. And it did. She wanted him. She’d let him do anything he wanted to do, and he felt hot all over.

She moved against the seat, her body in helpless control now, begging for something, for more than this. Her head went back, her full lips parting, hungry.

He slid his arm under her neck, bringing her body closer to his, his mouth poised just above hers. He watched her as his hand moved, and his lean fingers slowly closed over her breast, taking its soft weight and teasing the nipple with his thumb.

She cried softly at the unexpected pleasure, and bit her lower lip in helpless agony.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, bending. “Let me…”

His hard lips touched hers, biting softly at them, tracing them warmly from one side to the other. His nose nuzzled against hers, relaxing her, gentling her, while his hand toyed softly with her breast. “Open your mouth, baby,” he breathed as his head lowered again, and he met her open mouth with his.

She moaned harshly at the wild excitement he was arousing in her. She’d never dreamed that a kiss could be so intimate, so sweetly exciting. His tongue pushed past her startled lips, into the soft darkness of her mouth, teasing hers in a silence broken only by the sounds of breathing, and cloth against cloth.

“King,” she breathed under his lips. Her hands bit into his hair, his nape, tugging. “Hard, King,” she whispered shakily, “hard, hard…!”

He hadn’t expected that flash of ardor. It caused him to be far rougher than he meant to. He crushed her mouth under his, the force of it bending her head back against his shoulder. His searching hand found first one breast, then the other, savoring the warm silk of their contours, the hard tips that told him how aroused she was.

He forgot her age and the time and the place, and suddenly jerked her across him, his hands easing her into the crook of his arm as he bent his head to her body.

“Sweet,” he whispered harshly, opening his mouth on her breast. “God, you’re sweet…!”

She cried out from the shock of pleasure his mouth gave her, a piercing little sound that excited him even more, and her body arched up toward him like a silky pink sacrifice. Her hands tangled in his thick black hair, holding him there, tears of mingled frustration and sweet anguish trailing down her hot cheeks as the newness of passion racked her.

“Don’t…stop,” she whimpered, her hands contracting at his nape, pulling him back to her. “Please!”

“I wonder if I could,” he murmured with faint self-contempt as he gave in to the exquisite pleasure of tasting her soft skin. “You taste of gardenia petals, except right…here,” he whispered as his lips suddenly tugged at a hard nipple, working down until he took her silky breast into his mouth in a warm, soft suction that made her moan endlessly.

His steely fingers bit into her side as he moved the dress further down and shifted her, letting his mouth press warmly against soft skin, tracing her stomach into the soft elastic of her briefs, tracing the briefs to her hips and waist and then back up to the trembling softness of her breasts.

She found the buttons of his jacket, his silk shirt, and fumbled at them, whimpering as she struggled to make them come apart. She wanted to touch him, experience him as he was experiencing her. Without a clue as to what he might want, she tugged at the edges until he moved her hand aside and moved the fabric away for her. She flattened her palm against thick hair and pure man, caressing him with aching pleasure.

“Here,” he whispered roughly, moving her so that her soft breasts were crushed against the abrasive warmth of his chest.

He wrapped her up tight, then, moving her against his hair-roughened skin in a delirium of passion, savoring the feel of her breasts, the silkiness of her skin against him. His body was demanding satisfaction, now, hard with urgent need. His hand slid down her back to her spine and he turned her just a little so that he could press her soft hips into his, and let her know how desperately he wanted her.

She gasped as she felt him in passion, felt and understood the changed contours of his body. Her face buried itself in his hot throat and she trembled all over.

“Are you shocked, Tiffany?” he whispered at her ear, his voice a little rough as if he weren’t quite in control. “Didn’t you know that a man’s body grows hard with desire?”

She shivered a little as he moved her blatantly against him, but it didn’t shock her. It delighted her. “It’s wicked, isn’t it, to do this together?” she whispered shakily. Her eyes closed. “But no, I’m not shocked. I want you, too. I want…to be with you. I want to know how it feels to have you…”

He heard the words with mingled joy and shock. His whirling mind began to function again. Want. Desire. Sex. His eyes flew open. She was only twenty-one, for God’s sake! And a virgin. His business partner’s daughter. What the hell was he doing?

He jerked away from her, his eyes going helplessly to her swollen, taut breasts before he managed to pull her arms from around his neck and push her back in her seat. He struggled to get out of the car, his own aching body fighting him as he tried to remove himself from unbearable temptation in time.

He stood by the front fender, his shirt open, his chest damp and throbbing, his body hurting. He bent over a little, letting the wind get to his hot skin. He must be out of his mind!

Tiffany, just coming to her own senses, watched him with eyes that didn’t quite register what was going on. And then she knew. It had almost gone too far. He’d started to make love to her, and then he’d remembered who they were and he’d stopped. He must be hurting like the very devil.

She wanted to get out of the car and go to him, but that would probably make things even worse. She looked down and realized that she was nude to the hips. And he’d seen her like that, touched her…

She tugged her dress back up in a sudden flurry of embarrassment. It had seemed so natural at the time, but now it was shameful. She felt for the straps and pulled the bodice up, keeping her eyes away from her hard, swollen nipples. King had suckled them…

She shuddered with the memory, with new knowledge of him. He’d hate her now, she thought miserably. He’d hate her for letting him go so far, for teasing him. There were names for girls who did that. But she hadn’t pulled away, or said no, she recalled. He’d been the one to call a halt, because she couldn’t.

Her face went scarlet. She smoothed back her disheveled hair with hands that trembled. How could she face her guests now, like this? Everyone would know what had happened. And what if Wyatt should come along in the Jaguar…?

She looked behind them, but there was no car in sight. And then she realized that they were on King’s property, not hers. Had he planned this?

After another minute, she saw him straighten and run a hand through his sweaty hair. He rebuttoned his shirt and tucked it back into his trousers. He did the same with his evening jacket and straightened his tie.

When he finally turned back to get into the car, he looked pale and unapproachable. Tiffany glanced at him as he climbed back in and closed the door, wondering what to say.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said tersely. “Fasten your seat belt,” he added, because she didn’t seem to have enough presence of mind to think of it herself.

He started the car without looking at her and turned it around. Minutes later, they were well on the way to her father’s house.

It was ablaze with lights, although most of the cars had gone. She looked and saw the Jaguar sitting near the front door. So Wyatt was back. She didn’t know what kind of car he was driving, so she couldn’t tell if he’d gone or not. She hoped he had, and his cousin with him. She didn’t want to see them again.

King pulled up at the front door and stopped, but he didn’t cut the engine.

She reached for the door handle and then looked back at him, her face stiff and nervous.

“Are you angry?” she asked softly.

He stared straight ahead. “I don’t know.”

She nibbled her lower lip, and tasted him there. “I’m not sorry,” she said doggedly, her face suddenly full of bravado.

He turned then, his eyes faintly amused. “No. I’m not sorry, either.”

She managed a faint smile, despite her embarrassment. “You said it had to happen eventually.”

“And you wanted it to happen with me. So you said.”

“I meant it,” she replied quietly. Her eyes searched his, but she didn’t find any secrets there. “I’m not ashamed.”

His dark eyes trailed down her body. “You’re exquisite, little Tiffany,” he said. “But years too young for an affair, and despite tonight’s showing, I don’t seduce virgins.”

“Is an affair all you have to offer?” she asked with new maturity.

He pursed his lips, considering that. “Yes, I think it is. I’m thirty-four. I like my freedom. I don’t want the commitment of a wife. Not yet, at least. And you’re not old enough for that kind of responsibility. You need a few years to grow up.”

She was grown up, but she wasn’t going to argue the point with him. Her green eyes twinkled. “Not in bed, I don’t.”

He took a deep breath. “Tiffany, there’s more to a relationship than sex. About which,” he added shortly, “you know precious little.”

“I can learn,” she murmured.

“Damned fast, judging by tonight,” he agreed with a wicked smile. “But physical pleasure gets old quickly.”

“Between you and me?” she asked, her eyes adoring him. “I don’t really think it ever would. I can imagine seducing you in all sorts of unlikely places.”

His heart jumped. He shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t… “Such as?” he asked in spite of himself.

“Sitting up,” she breathed daringly. “In the front seat of a really elegant European sports car parked right in front of my house…”

His blood was beating in his temple. She made him go hot all over with those sultry eyes, that expression…

“You’d better go inside,” he said tersely.

“Yes, I suppose I had,” she murmured dryly. “It really wouldn’t do, would it, what with the risk of someone coming along and seeing us.”

It got worse by the second. He was beginning to hurt. “Tiffany…”

She opened the door and glanced back at his hard, set face. He was very dark, and she loved the way he looked in evening clothes. Although now, she’d remember him with his shirt undone and her hands against that sexy, muscular chest.

“Run while you can, cattle baron,” she said softly. “I’ll be two steps behind.”

“I’m an old fox, honey,” he returned. “And not easy game.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, smiling at him. “Good night, lover.”

He caught his breath, watching her close the door and blow him a kiss. He had to get away, to think. The last thing he wanted was to find himself on the receiving end of a shotgun wedding. Tiffany was all too tempting, and the best way to handle this was to get away from her for a few weeks, until they both cooled off. A man had to keep a level head, in business and in personal relationships.

He put the car in gear and drove off. Yes, that was what he should do. He’d find himself a nice business trip. Tiffany would get over him. And he’d certainly get over her. He’d had women. He’d known this raging hunger before. But he couldn’t satisfy it with a virgin.

He thought about her, the way she’d let him see her, and the aching started all over again. His face hardened as he stepped down on the accelerator. Maybe a long trip would erase that image. Something had to!

Tiffany went back into the house, breathless and worried that her new experiences would show. But they didn’t seem to. Wyatt came and asked where she and King had been and she made some light, outrageous reply.

For the rest of the evening, she was the belle of her own ball. But deep inside she was worried about the future. King wasn’t going to give in without a fight. She hoped she had what it took to land that big Texas fish. She wanted him more than anything in the whole world. And she wasn’t a girl who was used to disappointments.

Chapter 3

“Well, King’s left the country,” Harrison Blair murmured dryly three days after Tiffany’s party. “You don’t seem a bit surprised.”

“He’s running scared,” she said pertly, grinning up at her father from the neat crochet stitches she was using to make an afghan for her room. “I don’t blame him. If I were a man being pursued by some persistent woman, I’m sure that I’d run, too.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid he isn’t running from you,” he mused. “He took his secretary with him.”

Her heart jumped, but she didn’t miss a stitch. “Did he? I hope Carla enjoys the trip. Where did they go?”

“To Nassau. King’s talking beef exports with the minister of trade. But I’m sure Carla took a bathing suit along.”

She put in three more stitches. Carla Stark was a redhead, very pretty and very eligible and certainly no virgin. She wanted to throw her head back and scream, but that would be juvenile. It was a temporary setback, that was all.

“Nothing to say?” her father asked.

She shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to be cruel,” he began. “I know you’ve set your heart on King. But he’s thirty-four, sweetheart. You’re a very young twenty-one. Maturity takes time. And I’ve been just a tad overprotective about you. Maybe I was wrong to be so strict about young men.”