Giant of Mesabi

Alanna thought she saw a small opening. She looked away so he couldn't see what she was thinking. "But if I agree to marry you, you will help my father?"

"When you marry me, I will help your father." Rolt, closed the opening with mocking emphasis.

"If my father is ruined, Rolt Matthews, it will be your fault, because you could have saved him." She didn't attempt to mask her anger now.

"No," he denied calmly. "The fault will be yours because I made the offer and you refused. I'm not to blame for what happens—you are. l barely know your father. What difference does it make to me whether he eventually finds it difficult to hold his head up among old friends? If he was my father-in-law, I might be concerned. But as a mere acquaintance, hardly."

His arrogance filled her with rage. In a lightning arc the open palm of her hand struck at his complacently etched features. The needle-sharp sting of contact had barely occurred when the guilty hand was caught in the steel vice of his fingers. The line of his jaw was tight and ominous.

"You will marry me, Alanna. You have no choice," he said in a deadly quiet voice.

"Let go of me!" She strained against his hold, trying to twist her hand free.

The pressure increased by scant degrees until Alanna was drawn closer to him to escape the ensuing pain. His strength was such that she knew he could easily snap the slender bones of her wrist. Caution dictated that his streak of ruthlessness was so wide he might do it.

She stopped struggling, her breathing deep and agitated from anger and frustration. With a defiant toss of her head, she glared her bitter dislike of him into his face.

The roughly hewn features were very close as the enigmatic glitter of his gaze studied her expression. His grip on her wrists had arched her back, pressing her hips against the hardness of his thighs. The harsh line of his mouth thinned into a cruel smile.

"I won't let you go. In time, I think you won't want me to." Again, that low, arrogant voice carried the ring of prophecy.

"No!" Alanna gasped.

His mouth moved toward hers and she turned her head away, pushing her free hand against his chest. But there was still the pain of her captured wrist to contend with and she gained a little distance. The moist warmth of his breath hotly flamed her cheeks. The frantic turning and twisting of her head succeeded in eluding his kiss until her chin was caught by iron talons.

Her lips were ground against her teeth in savage possession. Alanna resisted, fighting his assault with every ounce of her strength. More pain shot through her arm as he twisted it behind her back, arching her against his length. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

As her strength was drained by the inescapability of his embrace, her resistance became less violent. She tried to simply endure the plundering of his mouth. The involuntary submission to his kiss brought a lethal tenderness that destroyed her defenses.

Rolt took advantage of the lowered barrier, expertly parting her lips and tasting the full sweetness of her mouth. A weakness assailed her muscles, some primitive core responding to his seductive mastery, His fingers no longer bit into her chin. His hand had drifted downward to caress her shoulder.

Long and deep, he kissed her, and a languor stole through her limbs. His mouth explored her eyelids, the sweeping curve of her lashes at the corners, burning her cheek as it moved to her earlobe, and blazed an evocative trail down the soft curve of her neck. An uncontrollable shudder quivered through her—born of desire, she discovered, instead of protest, and the realization rang a bell of alarm.

With a quick wrench, she twisted herself away from the undermining caress of his lips. She stood before him, her hands pushing against his chest, an arm's length away. He held her, not attempting to eliminate the distance between them, nor allowing her to completely break away. Alanna stared into the smoldering blue of his eyes, bewildered by the response a man she disliked had aroused, and angered that it should be so.

"Confused?" Rolt questioned in soft amusement. "Didn't you think this could happen? Didn't you realize the fire of hatred could just as quickly flame into the fire of passion?"

"No," she protested.

Quiet laughter sounded in his throat. Before she could think of anything to deny the accuracy of his taunting questions, he had closed the distance and was effortlessly sweeping her off her feet and into his arms.

"Put me down!" Alanna gasped in breathless indignation.

Rolt smiled lazily. "You aren't fully convinced yet."

Oblivious to her straining attempts to be free, he carried her to the sofa. Then Alanna was sitting across his lap, the bruising ardor of his kiss once again staking ownership to her lips. Her hands pushed futilely against his chest. One accidentally slipped inside his shirt, encountering the burning heat of his skin. Fire seared through her veins at the disturbing contact, and the fragmentary resistance melted. Her will seemed to have no control over the pagan responses of her flesh.

His fingers closed around the knot of the scarf around her throat, tugged it loose and stripped it away, exposing the full length of her slender neck for his exploration. His weight pressed her backward as he investigated the ridge of her collarbone and the hollow of her throat.

The sensuous storming of her body and mind seemed without end and a traitorous part of her didn't want it to stop. A hand moved over her waist and hip in a stimulating caress. Unfastening her blouse, he slid a hand beneath the silky material.

Through the haze of erotic sensations came the remembrance of Kurt, the man she loved. She was going to marry him. What despicable kind of a woman was she to let his brother make love to her this way? It was not only her own pride and self-respect she was betraying, but Kurt as well.

As the warm touch of Rolt's mouth moved over the rounded swell of her breast, Alanna nearly lost her newly regained sense of decency and morality in the overwhelming fire of his embrace. With a last, determined effort, she rolled free of his arms and stood beside the sofa. Her shaking limbs could carry her no farther.

Rolt held her gaze with mesmerizing ease. He sat there, his legs stretched over the cushions, his back resting against an arm of the sofa. Alanna stood above him, yet he was in command. Leisurely his hand reached out, curving around the back of her knee, stroking the sensitive skin absently. A jolting quiver of awareness trembled through her.

"Please, don't do this, Rolt," Alanna whispered, completely unnerved by the overpowering physical attraction he held for her.