Remember When (Foster Saga 1)

Diana jumped backward out of his reach. “I can’t! Not tonight.” Her voice was shaking so hard that she scarcely recognized it, and she bumped into the railing in her desperation to escape from what she perceived to be a threat. “I need time!”

He was blocking the path into the suite, and Diana started to sidle behind one of the balcony’s chairs, but the urgency and regret in his deep voice checked her in midstep and made her fear of him absurd. “Time is the only thing I can’t afford to give you, Diana.”

Diana heard all sorts of confusing signals in that sentence—from a desperate attempt at bribery, to an effort to salvage his pride by impressing her with his wealth. “With everything you have to offer,” she assured him as she reached behind her neck and unclasped the heavy necklace he’d bought earlier, “you’ll find lots of women who will jump at your suggestion in the hope it might lead to permanence—including some in the ballroom downstairs.”

“I imagine you’re right,” he said, his voice suddenly flat. “Possibly I was reaching far above myself, but I would have liked the wife in this scheme to be a woman I’m proud to have share my name, which happens to limit my choices to one—you.”

He said it so coolly that it took a moment for Diana to hear the meaning behind the words. “Why me?”

“A variety of reasons,” he said with a shrug. “Not the least of which is that despite your lofty social status, you also knew me when I was paid to muck out horse stalls, and you don’t seem to find that repellent.”

His blunt reference to his lack of social status, combined with his earlier attempt to bribe her, made Diana’s chest ache. Tears stung her eyes as she gazed at the powerful, dynamic man before her who, for some reason, was oblivious to his own worth. His face was almost too rugged to be handsome, and yet it was one of the most attractive faces she’d ever seen. Masculine pride and granite determination were sculpted into every hard angle and plane on his face. Cynicism had etched lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but in the strength of his features, Diana saw the mark of battles fought and won, of lessons learned the hard way. And there was no overlooking the sensuality in the mold of his mouth, not even when it had a sardonic twist, as it did now. If he hadn’t had money, women would still have thrown themselves at him—and yet, for some unfathomable reason he was willing to settle for an empty marriage and a life without children.

She herself had been little more than a child when she first started visiting him at the Haywards’, and he’d seemed to enjoy her company very much. He’d even gotten her a stuffed toy kitten for her sixteenth birthday, she suddenly remembered, and while she’d been melting with joy, he’d leapt to the conclusion that it wasn’t good enough. “You’ve probably had dozens of really exotic stuffed animals.”

Cole had been her friend, her fantasy lover, her mentor. Tonight he had been her knight in shining armor.

How foolish she was being now, to mistrust him and turn down an opportunity that was heaven-sent.

Guilt swelled in her chest and she wondered when she had become jaded and cynical. “Cole,” she whispered, and watched his expression soften at the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry—” She held out her hand in a gesture of conciliation, but his gaze riveted on the forgotten necklace in her palm, and his expression turned to stone.

“Keep it!” he said shortly. “I bought it for you.”

“No—” she began awkwardly; then she wished she’d had that other glass of champagne for courage when she saw the ominous expression in his eyes. “What I mean is, could you possibly repeat all those excellent reasons you gave me earlier?”

Cole saw the yielding softness in her eyes, and somewhere deep within him, he felt the faint stirrings of an emotion so long dead, or so foreign to him, that he didn’t recognize it. And even so, it made him smile.

It made him reach out and lay his palm against the side of her cheek and tenderly smooth a lock of gleaming russet hair off her warm cheek.

“I can’t decide,” she told him a little shakily.

“Diana,” he whispered, “you’ve already decided.”

Diana’s senses were beginning to reel with the shock of her decision and the touch of his hand. She tried to make a joke of it. “I have? What did I decide?”

His eyes gleamed with laughter, but his tone remained solemn. “You decided you’ll marry me in Nevada tonight.”

“I will?”

“You will.”

Chapter 28

I WILL. . . . I WILL. . . .” DIANA turned her head on the pillow, but the words followed her, echoing as if from the distant end of a long tunnel, combining with odd images that tumbled around in her brain in a shifting kaleidoscope of disjointed events and unrelated noises. I will. . . . I will. . . . In her dream, the two words were overlaid by the incessant drone of jet engines, the muted ringing of a telephone, and the shadowy, indefinable presence of a dark male, a looming, powerful figure that she sensed in her dream but could not see. His presence gave her twin sensations of being in grave danger and of being safe; the voice she heard was not his voice, and yet he seemed to control her answers.

“Will you?” Now the voice was hers—a whisper in the dim glow of a soft light near an unearthly bed that seemed to float as she lay upon it. He was standing beside the bed, leaning over her, his hands braced on the pillow beside her head, resisting her. “No.”

Her hands were on his shoulders, and she pulled him closer, watching his eyes begin to smolder. Roaring engines drowned his voice as his sensual lips formed a soundless word. “No.”

She slid her hand around his nape, and the banked fires in his eyes leapt into flames. She was in control now, she knew it, she gloried in it. “Yes . . .” she whispered, and his scorching gaze dropped to her lips.

She was in control as his mouth covered hers, exploring . . . tantalizing, then slowly opening on hers, urging her lips to part, his tongue probing between them, forcing entrance.

He was demanding control, taking it away from her, and she moaned in protest even while she crushed her lips to his and fought to subdue his tongue with her own. Large hands covered her breasts, fondling them possessively; then his mouth seized her nipples, drawing them taut, and she cried out. She couldn’t lose control, wouldn’t, must not! He knew she wanted to hold back, he knew it, but he shoved his hands into the sides of hair, turning it into a tangled mess. His ravenous mouth left her breasts, only to invade her mouth again while his body moved on top of hers and his hips began to move sensuously.

She tried to resist the erotic demands, the heat, the pressure of him, but he wouldn’t let her, and her legs parted as his hands lifted her buttocks and his rigid erection unerringly found the wet warmth at the entrance to her body. He thrust into her, his mouth devouring hers . . . and then it began—the slow, demanding thrusts that steadily increased in power and force, driving her to a terrifying precipice. She fought it, tried to recoil from it.

He knew she was fighting her own desire, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled onto his back, his body still joined fiercely to hers. He curved his hands around her hips, forcing her into a tempo that made her forget that her hair was a tangled mess and her breasts were too small

and her hip had a scar on the side of it.

She rode him and rode him because he wouldn’t let her stop. Because she couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Wild now. She was wild and sobbing with need, and his hips were moving with hers, hands caressing her breasts, fingers squeezing her taut nipples. She cried out as explosions racked her body, and he arched his back while deep spasms drove him higher and deeper into her. Engines screamed and the bed crashed to earth, rocking her violently off him; his arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her, while blue lights flew past the windows with dizzying speed. Eerie lights.

Blue lights . . . revolving around and around . . . spinning past.

Diana tossed her head on the pillow, afraid of the lights, trying to escape the clutches of the demon lover who had taken much more than she meant to offer.

She tried to turn and run, but an entity was guarding her, preventing her from moving—a terrifying, four-legged beast as black as the hounds from hell. Its fangs were huge; its ears were pointed and stiff; its body was gaunt from starvation. Satan from Rosemary’s Baby. She was Rosemary!

In her dream, Diana screamed with fear, but the actual sound was only a parched whisper: “No!”

Propelled by terror, Diana broke free of the nightmare and opened her eyes. Pain stabbed through the sockets of her eyes and embedded itself in her brain as she blinked dazedly at a spacious, but wholly unfamiliar bedroom. The sound of a door opening made her jerk her chin in that direction, which caused the pain to worsen, the room to revolve, and her stomach to lurch alarmingly. A man whom she suddenly identified as Cole Harrison was strolling into her bedroom as casually as if he had a right to be there. “Easy now,” he told her in an amused voice as he moved toward her with a tray in his hand. “Don’t make any sudden movement.”