Tender Deception by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m not!” she murmured, raising her head to meet his eyes with a flash of defiance in her own. “But I’m also not a child.”
    “No?” His voice held a strange note as he raked his amused blue gaze down her body. “Maybe not, come here and we’ll see.”
    Her feet seemed glued to the floor. His brows rose mockingly and she knew he still teased her even as he watched her speculatively. “What’s the matter, little girl?” he chuckled.
    That decided her. She had the vague suspicion that he was comparing her to the tempestuous Lenore she had heard he dated, and she was determined that he would find her to be far more worthy of his attentions than that siren. Tilting her head high, she moved slowly toward the stage, vaulting the edge with a graceful leap. She sat beside him, crossing her beautiful legs provocatively and looking deep into his eyes.
    She could still the quivers that raced through her; she could hold her head high…be enticing. She was going to be an actress and could hide the fear that threatened to tug her from the stage and send her flying into the night.
    He had meant to tease, to brush her lips, to promise solemnly she would be a beautiful woman one day before sending her on her way. But when his arms came around her, he found himself dragging her lengthwise beside him, claiming her lips in a caressing kiss which, begun as a joke, quickly became something else as a fire kindled in both of them—Brant, the man who had dated only mature women, his own age or older, women attuned to flirtations, and Vickie, the girl who so far knew little except the pursuit of elusive and hazy dreams…
    His weight shifted over hers; his powerful hands began a delightful exploration, slipping beneath the material of her blouse and searching her bare skin with tantalizing finesse. His thoughts meshed and mingled with his desires.
    She was not that young; she was very much a woman. Her innocent response belied a deep sensuality, now budding beneath his practiced touch. Her flesh was alive, warm, beautiful, enticing.
    But it was wrong. He had an understanding with Lenore, who thought no more of making love than she did of taking a walk. And somehow he knew this girl was different. Each experience for her would be special. She would give and take and cherish—and trust. He wasn’t the man for her. She deserved a young man of her own, one who could give with total commitment before taking. He broke from her, his breathing harsh and ragged.
    Vickie looked into his darkened eyes, confused. She had forgotten everything in the pleasure of his arms. Now his look was angry again, and all she knew was that she ached, painfully, mentally and physically. She didn’t want to moralize; she simply longed to have him meld her body to his sinewed one once more, longed to understand and broaden the marvelous new sensations that he awakened to a rage within her. But he had withdrawn, irrevocably.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling very awkward beneath his dark gaze.
    “Nothing,” he muttered hoarsely. He made a feeble attempt at one of his careless grins. “It’s just that, well, you’re right. You’re not a little girl at all.” Uncrossing his legs, he rose and reached a hand down to her. “Come on, Vickie, I’ll take you home.”
    Vickie bolted up in her bed, shaken by her dreams. A feverish feeling had left her shivering; beads of perspiration had broken across her forehead. Hindsight was cruel, she thought, groaning aloud. How could she have been so pathetically naive?
    She had been alone with Brant only twice—the one night at the theater, which had precipitated the second: her going to his house. Never had he instigated the dalliance. It had been she, fueling a fire with no regard for the consequences.
    And now he was back, apparently with a surprising memory of what she thought he might have forgotten. It was doubtful that he remembered the stolen kiss of her waking dream—he had certainly