afraid of his lack of control.
“No!” she whimpered.
He barely heard her. His mind was spinning, his body in torment. He managed to lift his head, breathing roughly, and look down at her. But the passion and delight he had expected to see in her pale eyes was missing. They were wide, but not with desire. With…fear!
He scowled. Her hands were on his chest, but they were pushing, not caressing, and she was crying.
“Abby,” he whispered gently. “Honey…”
“Let me…go,” she sobbed brokenly. “Oh, let me go!” She pushed again, harder.
This time he flexed his hands against the wall and pushed away from her, leaving her cold, empty. She moved past him, putting half the length of the room between them. So that—that!—was what passion felt like. She shivered a little at the memory. Her mouth hurt where his had ground against it, and her breasts were sore from the hard pressure of his chest. He hadn’t even tried to be gentle. She stared at him accusingly, her eyes bright with tears as she drew her jacket closer and shivered.
Calhoun felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a hammer. Her reaction hadn’t been anything like what he’d expected. He’d almost kissed her once before, and she’d been yielding then, willing. But now she looked as if she hated him.
“You hurt me,” she whispered shakily.
He was lost for words. Concerned, he stared at her, his dark eyes quiet on her wan face. She looked as if she had never experienced a man’s passion. Was that possible? Could any woman be that unawakened in this day and age?
“Haven’t you ever been kissed?” he asked softly.
“Of course I have,” she replied stiffly. “But not…not like that!”
His eyebrows went up. At last he was catching one. “My God,” he said huskily. “Abby, adults kiss that way!”
“Then I don’t want to be an adult,” she returned, coloring. “Not if I have to be mauled like that!”
He watched her turn and leave the room, and he was powerless to stop her. Her reaction had floored him completely. He’d expected her to know a little about lovemaking, at least, but she seemed totally innocent. She’d never known a deep kiss or the intimacy of a man’s body.
It should have pleased him, but he found it irritating that she thought he’d mauled her. By God, he should have let her go out with Myers. Then she’d know what it was to be mauled!
He left the room and closed the door, his expression thunderous as he heard her footsteps going down the staircase and then her muffled goodbye to Justin.
Calhoun went back to his own room. He was breathing roughly, and his heart wouldn’t beat properly. He felt hot all over. Frustrated. Furious. Damn Abby and her soft body. It was driving him out of his mind!
He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Well, it was a good thing she didn’t like his kisses, because hell would freeze over before she ever got another one.
Abby was blissfully unaware of Calhoun’s thoughts. She climbed into her car and started it with hands that were still trembling. How could Calhoun have hurt her like that if he’d cared anything about her? He’d just proved how little she meant to him. He’d only been interested in his own pleasure, not hers. Well, he could go back to his blondes for all she cared. She was sure she hated him now.
Misty was already dressed and waiting when Abby got to the colonial mansion the older girl shared with her parents. Misty took them to town in her little sports car, and for once Abby didn’t mind the wind. It might blow away her misery. Just thinking about Calhoun’s rough treatment made her miserable. She loved him and it hurt terribly that he could treat her that way. But she had to pretend that nothing was wrong, so that Misty wouldn’t start asking questions that Abby didn’t want to answer.
They parked in town and went to the first address on Misty’s list. It was an apartment above a sweet shop, on the corner across from the bank. Misty didn’t like the place, because there was only one bedroom and she wanted her privacy. Abby deliberately put the implications of that remark in the back of her mind and added that she didn’t like the view. It was too close to the center of town, and there was a good deal of traffic on Saturday night.
The second place they went was just right. The room being rented was upstairs in a private house owned by a Mrs. Simpson, who was friendly and bright and welcoming. That turned Misty off completely. She didn’t want an old busybody watching out for her. But Abby was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Misty was going to do some entertaining once they were on their own, and her association with the Ballengers made her balk at the thought of Misty’s plans.
“I’ll take it,” she told Mrs. Simpson, “if you don’t mind having just me instead of both of us, and if you aren’t in a hurry for me to move in. It will be a few weeks….”
“That will work out fine. I’m going off to my sister’s for a week or so, anyway.” Mrs. Simpson smiled broadly, her blue eyes lighting up. “My dear, I’d be delighted.” She leaned forward while Misty was still upstairs grumbling about the lack of privacy. “Your friend seems very nice, mind you, but I’m rather old-fashioned….”
“So am I,” Abby whispered, putting her finger to her lips when Misty came downstairs again.
“No, I’m sorry, it won’t do,” she sighed.
“I have the perfect solution,” Abby told her. “I’ll take this one, and you take the other one. It’ll be great. We can visit each other, and we’ll both have our privacy.”
Misty raised an eyebrow. “Well…it might be nice at that. But you said you wanted to room with me.”
Mrs. Simpson excused herself, asking Abby to phone her later about a date for moving in.
Abby moved with Misty to the door. “Let’s face it,” she told her friend, “you want to entertain men, and I’ll have Calhoun and Justin all over me if they find out about it. I’m sure you don’t want them on your case.”
Misty shuddered delicately. “Are you kidding? Calhoun, maybe, but not Justin! That man doesn’t have a humorous bone in his whole body.”
Abby remembered how amused Justin had been about Calhoun’s behavior, but she just nodded her head.
“Let’s have coffee,” Misty suggested. She drove them back into town in her little sports car and parked beside the bank. The two women had just gotten out of the car when Tyler Jacobs and his sister Shelby came around the corner looking somber and disturbed.
Abby greeted them. “Tyler. Shelby. How are you?”
“This isn’t a good time to ask,” Shelby sighed, but she smiled. She was a dish. Short dark hair framed her elfin face, and she had eyes that were an odd shade of green, almost glassy in color. Her mouth was perfect, and she was tall. She would have made a fortune as a model, but her parents wouldn’t have heard of such a profession for their only daughter.
Tyler was like his sister in coloring. He had thick dark hair, almost black, and an olive complexion and the same odd-colored green eyes. He was as big as Calhoun, but slender. Whipcord-lean and dangerous-looking. He wasn’t
