Time and Again

knowledge nearly broke her. If he succeeded in what he set out to do, it would wash away other memories and leave this one, this violent, distorted one, dominant. Unable to bear it, she fought now for both of them.
    He knew her too well. Every curve, every dip, every pulse. On a wave of fury, he locked her wrists in one hand and dragged her arms over her head. His mouth savaged her neck while his free hand slid down, unerringly, to find one of those secret, vulnerable places. He heard her moan as the unwanted, unavoidable pleasure tore into her. Her body tensed, a wire ready to snap. It arched, a bow pulled taut.
    He felt the burst of release as it shuddered through her, heard her choked-off cry. He saw her lips quiver before she pressed them hard together.
    Regret burned through him. He had no right, no one did, to take something beautiful and use it as a weapon. He'd wanted to hurt her for something beyond her control. And he had. No more, he realized, than he had hurt himself.
    "Libby."
    She only shook her head, her eyes tightly closed. Wishing for words that weren't there, Cal rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
    "I have no excuse- there is no excuse for treating you that way."
    She managed to swallow the tears. It relieved her, made it possible for her to steady her breathing and open her eyes. "Maybe not, but there's usually a reason. I'd like to hear it."
    He didn't answer for a long time. They lay close and tense, not quite touching. There were dozens of reasons he could give her-lack of sleep, overwork, the anxiety over the possible failure of his flight. They would all be accurate, to a point. But they wouldn't be the truth. Libby, he knew, set great store by honesty.
    "I care for you," he said slowly. "It isn't easy knowing I won't see you again. I realize we both have our own lives," he added before she could speak. "Our own place. Maybe we're both doing what has to be done, but I don't like the idea that it's easy for you."
    "It isn't."
    He knew it was selfish, but it relieved him to hear it. Reaching over, he linked his hand with hers. "I'm jealous."
    "Of what?"
    "Of the men you'll meet, the ones you'll love. The one's who'll love you."
    "But-"
    "No, don't say anything. Let me get it all out and over with. It doesn't seem to matter that I know it's wrong, intellectually. It's a gut reaction, Libby, and I'm used to going with them. Every time I imagine another man touching you the way I've touched you, seeing you the way I've seen you, I go a little crazy."
    "And that's why you've been angry with me?" She turned her head to study his profile. "Over my imagined future affairs?"
    "I guess you've got a right to make me sound like an idiot."
    "I'm not trying to."
    He moved his shoulders in what might have been a shrug. "I can even see him. He's about six-four and built like one of those Greek gods."
    "Adonis," she suggested, smiling. "He gets my vote."
    "Shut up." But she noted that his lips curved slightly. "He's got blond hair, streaked, kind of windswept, and this strong, rock-hard jaw with one of those clefts in it."
    "Like Kirk Douglas?"
    He shot her a suspicious look. "You know a guy like this?"
    "Only by reputation." Because she sensed that the storm was over, she kissed Cal's shoulder.
    "Anyway, he's got brains, too, which is another reason I really hate him. He's a doctor, not medical but philosophy. He can discuss the traditional mating habits of obscure tribes with you for hours. And he plays piano."
    "Wow. I'm impressed."
    "He's rich," Cal went on, almost viciously. "A 9.2 credit rating. He takes you to Paris and makes love to you in a room overlooking the Seine. Then he gives you a diamond as big as a fist."
    "Well, well." She gave it some thought. "Can he quote poetry?"
    "He even writes it."
    "Oh, my God." She put a hand to her heart. "I don't suppose you could tell me where I'm going to meet him? I want to be ready."
    He rolled over just enough to look at her. Her eyes were bright, but with amusement, not tears. "You're getting a real charge out of this, aren't you?"
    "Yes." She lifted a hand to his face. "I suppose it might make you feel better if I promised I'd join a convent."
    "Okay." He took her wrist to bring her palm against his mouth. "Can I get it in writing?"
    "I'll think about it." His eyes were clear again, deep and clear. He was Cal now, the man she could love and understand. "Are we finished fighting?"
    "Looks like it. I'm sorry, Libby. I've been acting like a lupz."
    "I'm not