Chapter 8

He burst out laughing. "What a child you are," he chuckled. "Do I have
to love a woman to take her into my bed?"

The flush went all the way down to my throat. "I don't know," I
admitted.

"No," he said, his smile fading. "I don't suppose you do. I believed
in love, at your age."

"Cynic," I accused.

"Guilty. I've learned that sex is better without emotional blinders." Mark said, looking at me.

I dropped my eyes, trying not to see the unholy amusement in his face.

"Embarrassed, Jaime? I thought that experience with Hunter had matured
you."

My eyes flashed fire as they lifted to meet his.

"Do we have to go through this again?" I asked.

"Not if you've learned something from it." His gaze dropped to my dress.

"Although I have my doubts. Are you wearing anything under that damned
nightgown?"

"Mark!" I yelled. "It's not a nightgown."

"It looks like one."

"It's the style!"

"In Paris, I hear, the style is a vest with nothing under it, worn
open."

I tossed my hair back, angry. "And if I lived in Paris, I'd wear one."

He smiled. "Would you?" His eyes dropped to my chest, and the boldness
of his gaze made me feel strange sensations. "I wonder."

I put my hands in my lap, feeling outwitted and outmatched. "What did
you want to talk to me about Mark?" I asked.

"I've invited some people over to visit."

I remembered my invitation to Jeff and I held my breath. "Uh, who?" I
asked.

"Vince McMahon and his daughter Melissa," he told me. "They're going to be here for a week or so while Vince and I work out that labor mess. He's the head of the local union that's giving us trouble."

"And his daughter?" I asked, hating myself for my own curiosity.

"Blond and sexy," he said.

I glared at him. "Just your style. With the emphasis on sexy."

He watched me. Mark, being the adult, was indulging me. I wanted to
throw something at him.

"Well, I hope you don't expect me to help Brenda keep them entertained.
Because I'm expecting company of my own!" I said without thinking.

The danger signals were flashing out of his green eyes. "What company?"
He asked.

I lifted my chin proudly. "Jeff Hardy."

Something took fire and exploded under his eyebrow.

"Not in my house," he said in a tone that might cut glass.

"But, Mark, I've already invited him!"

"You heard me. If you didn't want to be embarrassed, you should have
talked with me before inviting him. What were you going to do, Jaime,
meet him at the airport and then tell me about it?"

I couldn't look him in the eye. "Something like that."

"Call him. Tell him something came up."

I lifted my eyes and glared at him. Here he was sitting there like a
conqueror, ordering my life. If I buckled under one more time, I'd
never be able to stand up to him. Never. I couldn't let him win this
time.

My jaw set and stubbornly and sternly I replied, "No!"

He got to his feet slowly, gracefully for such a large man, and the set
of his broad shoulders was intimidating even without the sudden, fierce
narrowing of his eyes.

"What did you say?" he asked.

I put my fingers together in front of me and clenched them. "I said
no," I managed in a small voice. "Mark, it's my home, too. At least
you said it was the day you asked me to come live here," I reminded him.

"I didn't say you could use it as a rendezvous for romantic writers!"

"You bring women here," I yelled back, remembering the night I had
accidentally come home too early from a date and found him with
Silhouette Sinclair on the very chairs they were now sitting.

Silhouette had been stripped to the waist and so had Mark. I had barely
even noticed her, my eyes were so set on the sight of Mark with his
broad, muscled chest bared by the woman's exploring hands. I'd never
been able to get the picture of him out of my mind, his mouth, and his eyes
almost black with desire.

"I used to," he corrected, reading my memory. "How old were you then?
Fifteen?"

I nodded, looking away from him.

"And I yelled at you, didn't I?" he recalled. "I hadn't expected you
home. I was hungry and impatient and frustrated. When I took Sil home,
she was in tears."

"I...I should have knocked. But we'd been to that fair, and I won a
prize, and I couldn't wait to tell you about it..." I began before cutting myself off.

He smiled. "You used to bring all your triumphs straight to me, like a
puppy with its toys. Until that night." His eyes studied me. "You've kept a wall between us ever since. The minute I start to come close, you find something else to put up in front of you. Last time it was Hunter Helmsley. Now, it's this writer."

"I'm not trying to build any walls." I said defensively. "You're the
one. You won't let me be independent."

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I don't know. But I'll never find out if you keep smothering me. I
want to be free, Mark."

"None of us are that," he said in a bitter voice. "What is it that attracts you to Jeff?" he asked suddenly

I shrugged. "He's fun to be with. He makes me laugh."

"That's all you need from a man-laughter?" Mark asked, unbelievingly.

The way he said it made shivers run down my spine, and when I looked at
him, the expression on his face was puzzling.

"What else is there?" I asked without thinking.

A slow smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "The fires a man and a
woman can create when they make love."

I shifted in my chair. "They're over rated," I said with sophistication.

He threw his head back and laughed.

"Shut up!" I said. "You'll wake the whole damn house."

His white, even teeth were visable. "You're red as a beet," he said.
"What do you know about love, little girl? You'd pass out if a man
started making love to you."

I stared at him with outrage. "How do you know? Maybe Jeff..."

"...maybe not," he interupted. "You're still very much a virgin,
little Jaime. If I'd had any fears of that, I'd have jerked you out of
that school so fast your head would have spun."

"Virginity isn't such a prize these days," I sighed, remembering Melissa Hardy's insulting remarks about it.

"Don't get any ideas about throwing yours away." he warned me softly.

"Mark, don't be old-fashioned. Anyway, where would you be today if all
the women in the world were pure?" I asked him.

"Rather frustrated," he admitted. "But you're not one of my women, and
I don't want you offering yourself to men like a nymphomaniac."

"There's hardly any danger of that. I don't know how."

"That dress is a damned good start.

I glanced down at it. "But it covers me up," I protested." "It's a lot
more modest than what Jen was wearing."

"I noticed," he said with a smile.

"Jen thinks you're the sexiest man alive," I said quietly. "She knew
you'd be at the party."

"Jen's a child," he said turning away with one hand in his pocket. "And
I'm too old to encourage hero worship."

Jen was my age. My heart seemed to die, and I wanted to hit him. He always made me feel so ignorant.

I studied his broad back. He was so good to look at. SO big and
vibrant, and full of life. A quiet man, a caring man. And a tyrant!

"If you won't let me invite Jeff here," I mumbled, "I suppose I could
fly down to the writer's convention with him."

He turned, staring at me. "Threatening me, Jaime?" he asked.

"I wouldn't dare!"

"Is that you best shot?"

"Male chaevinsit!" I said, trying again. "You do irritate me, Mark."

He moved toward me. "What do you think you do to me, little Jaime?"

I looked up into his face as he came closer. "I probably irritate you
just as much," I admitted, sighing.

"Baby girl?" It was what he used to call me before we faught all the time.

He smiled down at me. "Baby girl. Come here."

He tilted my chin up and bent his head down. I closed my eyes, expecting the familiar brief, rough touch of his mouth when he kissed me goodnight. But it didn't come.

I opened my eyes and looked straight into his. I was so close that I
could see the gold in his eyes, the tiny crinkled lines at the corner of his eyelids.

His fingers touched the side of my throat, warm and caressing.

"Mark?" I whispered.

I could see a muscle jerk beside his mouth.

"Welcome home, Jaime," he said roughly, and started to move away.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" I asked without thinking.

All the expression drained out of his face and left his eyes smoldering
and they looked down into mine. "It's late," he said turning away. "And I'm tired. Good night, Jaime."

He walked out the door and left me standing there, staring at the empty
doorway.