Time and Again

Yours is just dandy." He pulled away, annoyed with himself, annoyed with her. "I've got to get to the ship."
    "I know. I thought I'd run into town and pick up the camera and some other things. If I get back early enough I'll ride out, check on your progress."
    "Fine." He was damned if it was going to be so easy for her when he was being torn in two. Before he could regret it, he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth down on hers.
    Hot, edgy, tasting of anger and frustration, the kiss spun out. Libby hung on, to maintain her physical, as well as her emotional, balance. She couldn't, wouldn't, give him what he seemed to need. Total capitulation. He'd never asked for that before, nor had she known she would so firmly withhold it.
    Trapped, she couldn't soothe, couldn't demand, as he devoured.
    In one long, possessive stroke, his hands ran up her body, then down again with no lessening of force.
    She might have protested. There was something here that frightened her, that left her weak-not meltingly, but with an open-ended vulnerability that made her struggle to find her feet again. There was no gentleness here, nor was there the sense of urgent desire he had once shown her. Instead, the kiss was like a punishment, and a brutally effective one.
    "Caleb-" She began, hitching in a shallow breath, when he released her.
    "That should give you something to think about," he said, then turned abruptly to stalk away.
    Stunned, she stared after him. One unsteady hand reached up to press against lips still tender from his assault. When her breathing steadied, her temper took hold. She'd think about it, all right. She stormed inside, slamming the door behind her. Moments later she stormed out again to climb into the Land Rover.
    It was all going perfectly. And he was mad as hell. Technically he could take off within twenty-four hours. The major repairs were done, the calculations as finely tuned as he and the computer could make them in the time allotted. His ship was ready. He wasn't. That was what it came down to.
    She was certainly ready to see him off, Cal thought as he fused a tear in the inner shell with his spot laser. Damned anxious, if it came to that. She was probably in town right now buying a camera so that she could take a few souvenir pictures before she waved goodbye. He shut off the laser and checked the seam.
    Why did she have to be so practical about it?
    Because she was practical, he reminded himself as he yanked off his protective goggles. That was one of the things he most admired about her. She was practical, warm, intelligent, shy. He could still see the way her eyes had looked the first time he'd told her he wanted her. They'd gone from big and tawny to big and confused.
    And when he'd touched her. She'd gotten hot and trembly. She was soft, so incredibly soft. Cursing himself, he stowed the laser in the tool compartment, then tossed the goggles in beside them before he slammed the door. He couldn't imagine a man in the universe being able to resist those eyes, or that skin, or that wide, sexy mouth.
    That was part of the problem, he admitted as he prowled the ship. Men wouldn't. Maybe she hadn't paid attention before. Maybe she'd been too wrapped up in her books and her work and her theories on the societal tendencies of man as a species. One day she was going to slip those glasses off her nose and look around-and realize that there were men, flesh-and-blood men, looking back at her. Men who could make promises, he thought in disgust. Even if they didn't mean to keep them.
    Perhaps she hadn't realized how much passion, how much heat, how much power, she held. But he'd opened those doors for her. Opened, hell-he'd smashed them. Once he was gone, other men would tend the fire he'd lit.
    The thought made him insane. Cal admitted it as he dragged his hands through his hair. Stark, raving crazy. He belonged in one of those padded cells Libby had spoken of. He couldn't stand it-the thought of someone else touching her, kissing her. Undressing her.
    With an oath, he wheeled into his cabin and began to put it in order. That is, he tossed things around.
    He was being selfish and unfair. And he didn't care. It was true that he would have to accept the fact that Libby would go on with her life, and that her life would include a lover-or lovers, he thought, grinding his teeth. A husband, perhaps, and children. He had to accept that. But he was damned if he had to like it.
    After kicking a shoe into a corner, he