of releasing her, he tightened his fingers on her wrist, making her wince. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never heard of Judd Barker.”
She lifted her gaze to his and glared right back at the cold, hate-filled eyes pinned on her. “No, I’ve never heard of—” She stiffened as the name clicked a hidden memory, one of headlines with the name in bold, dark type. Judd Barker—Country Western’s Favorite Son Gone Bad.
She wasn’t a fan of country music, but like every other person who’d ever stood in a grocery checkout line, she’d read the headlines on the tabloids racked there. She would have dismissed them for the sensationalistic trash they were, except she’d also seen the cover of “People Weekly” magazine and read the story within. Judd Barker Charged With Rape Of Fan.
He watched her eyes darken in fear and felt the kick of it in her pulse through his fingertips. Her reaction both sickened and angered him. “So you have heard of me.”
“Ye-yes,” she stammered.
“And you came to see for yourself what kind of man would rape a defenseless woman and maybe get a front-page story for your trouble? Well, take a good look, sweetheart. This may be the only chance you get.”
Her head wagged back and forth in mute denial before she found her voice. “No. No, I told you. I didn’t come here to find you. I came to trace my great-grandfather’s mother.”
He twisted her hand behind his waist, dragging her body flush against his. He fisted his other hand in her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her face up to his. “Liar.”
Unwanted tears budded in her eyes. Her neck ached with the strain of looking up at him, but she was no match for his strength. Refusing to show her fear, she met his gaze squarely. “I’m not lying. And if you do not remove your hands from me by the time I count to three, I’m going to scream bloody hell and have everyone in the hotel in this room.” She narrowed her eyes, levering a note of threat into her voice as she added, “With one charge of rape of against you, you might have a hard time explaining your presence in my room. One. Two. Thr—”
His face came down, his lips crushing against hers, absorbing the scream that built in her throat. Her heart slammed against her chest at the first shocking contact. He’s going to rape me, she thought incredulously as she instinctively strained against the hand that held her face to his. Or kill me, she thought on a shudder. And she didn’t know which would be worse.
With every ounce of strength within her, she fought him, twisting her wrist within fingers cinched like a steel band, shoving against a chest, iron-hard with padded muscle. Her attempts to escape were futile for his mouth continued to punish her for a wrong she couldn’t name.
Her wrist throbbed from the effort, her neck ached from the strain, yet she continued to struggle as his lips persisted in their bruising assault.
Then it changed. Everything. In the span of a heartbeat, his fingers loosened in her hair to cup her nape, his grip on her hand disappeared only to reappear, softer, gentler, at her waist. The lips on hers no longer punished, but teased; his tongue hot and wet, tracing the seam of her lips, skimming down her throat to savor the smooth skin there.
She found the sudden change from abductor to seducer as debilitating as his strength had been only moments ago. She knew that nothing held her to this man any longer, but she couldn’t—didn’t—pull away.
Instead, she curled her fingers into his shirt and clung. Against the flat of her palm, his heart beat. The back of her hand monitored her own heart’s thundered response. Passion, the kind she’d dreamed of but wasn’t sure existed, heated the blood coursing through her veins, turning her skin to fire, her sanity to a pile of ash.
He lifted a hand to nudge off his hat. It hit the floor, bounced against her leg then rocked slowly to a stop at her feet. Her fingers climbed up his chest to anchor on his shoulders. Her chest heaved with each intake of breath, her nipples hardening with each scrape of silk against cotton.
Her reaction to him both shocked and repulsed her. This man was a total stranger...a suspected rapist...and yet there was nothing strange about the way she felt in his arms. There was a familiarity in the way they responded to each other, an instantaneous spark of recognition that defied reason.
She dropped her head back on a low moan. “Don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t, what?” he murmured, his breath heating the soft skin of her throat before he returned his lips to hers. He leveled his hands on her waist, then skimmed slowly upward over her ribs.
“Don’t—” She sucked in a ragged breath when his thumbs pushed against the swell of her breasts, sending rivers of sensation flooding through her. “You’ve got to stop,” she cried on a broken sob. “Or else I’ll— I’ll—”
His body went rigid against hers. “Or else you’ll what?” He took a step back, branding her with eyes dark with loathing. “Scream rape?” With his gaze still locked on hers, he bent and scooped his hat from the floor and fitted it over his head. He ran a finger along the brim to pull it low over his eyes.
“It’s not rape when a woman’s willing,” he said, then spun and walked to the door, his black duster swishing against the legs of his starched jeans. He stopped, one hand braced high on the door, then turned to look at her over his shoulder. “And you, sweetheart, were more than willing.”
* * *
Hours later Callie lay on her back, the sheet and blanket clutched to her chin, her eyes wide, staring at the ceiling overhead. Though the thermostat in the room registered a comfortable seventy-two degrees, shivers shook her body.
He’d been wrong. She hadn’t been willing. She’d been desperate, almost crazy with her need for him. If he hadn’t stopped when he did, she wasn’t at all sure she could have found the strength to end what he had started.
Even now, with regret stinging her eyes and throat, an ache still throbbed between her legs, crying out for a satisfaction she knew she shouldn’t want.
A sob rose in her throat, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, holding it back. She’d always known there was more between a man and a woman than what she’d experienced. More than just a physical joining. There had to be a higher level, an almost spiritual experience that transformed a man and a woman when they touched. She’d never experienced that with Stephen, which explained her hesitancy in agreeing to set a date for their marriage.
But she had felt “that something different” with Judd Barker. God help her, but she’d felt it.
* * *
“Prudy, I want you to fax me everything you can find on Judd Barker.”
“The country-western singer?”
Callie juggled the phone between her ear and shoulder while she laced up her hiking boots. “Yes.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
She caught the phone in her hand, tightening her fingers on the receiver as she lurched to her feet. “Look, I don’t have time to explain right now. I’m on my way to the cemetery to see Papa’s grave.”
“Papa’s! He’s not dead! You’re supposed to be looking for his mother’s grave. Callie, what is going on?
