"I haven't yet decided what to write."

He slipped his fingers into her hair, then ran his thumb over her cheek with surprising gentleness. "Don't write anything."

"Do you have a better suggestion for how I should spend my time?"

"Definitely."

He brought her face up and kissed her with the kind of force that never failed to arouse her. It didn't fail then. She let herself luxuriate in his hunger for a minute before tearing away.

"I don't want this, John," she said in a breathy, singsong way.

"Bulls.h.i.t."

When he reached for her again, she dodged his arms and ran down the two steps into the living room. There she sank into the corner of the sofa, looking as defiant as she could, and waited for him to make a move.

Slowly and deliberately, he squared his shoulders. "You're still in a snit about Janet."

"I sure am."

"There's no need. The engagement's off."

Her heart started speeding again. "Off?"

"Broken. Over."

"Why?"

"I decided I didn't want to marry her after all."

"Why?"

"I don't love her."

Hillary sniffed. "Love was never an issue."

"Then like."

"You liked her fine when you got engaged."

"I decided I didn't like the confinement."

After a minute's consideration, she understood. "Ahhh. You went to bed with someone. She found out and made a fuss."

"Something like that."

She searched his face for remorse or regret but found neither. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

He actually looked wounded. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"Pleased that you see nothing wrong with cheating? Pleased that you sleep around with half of the women in the Western World?"

He came down the steps toward her. "One woman, Hillary, and only after you said you wouldn't sleep with me."

"And I meant it. Even I have to draw the line somewhere."

"There's no need anymore. The engagement is off."

"That's convenient." She tucked her legs up under her skirt and wrapped her arms around her knees. It wasn't the most sophisticated of poses, but she didn't care. She felt vulnerable and very much in need of protection from John. "You break up with Janet just in time to get it off with me. Will you go back to her when we're done?"

"That doesn't even merit an answer."

She laughed and shot a sad glance at the ceiling. "My G.o.d, you sound pious." Abruptly looking as grim as she felt, she met his gaze. "You don't understand, do you, John? You live by a different set of rules from the rest of us. You didn't see anything wrong with cheating on Janet, and you didn't understand when I refused to do it."

"I offered her a h.e.l.l of a lot in return. I thought she knew the score."

"That's not the point! The point is that people don't like being used. It doesn't matter what you give them in return. At some point the abuse isn't worth it."

"Abuse?" His expression hardened. "Hold on a minute. I never abused Janet. I never so much as raised a finger to her."

"There are different kinds of abuse."

"So let's keep them straight. You say I used Janet. People use each other all the time. It's a mutual thing in an engagement or a marriage. Physical abuse is something else entirely. I didn't do a single thing in my relationship with Janet that could remotely be considered physically abusive."

"My, you're defensive," Hillary observed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She realized then how much she'd learned in the three months since she'd seen him last. "It means that you have it in you. You have a mean streak. Mean streaks turn violent. Maybe Janet saw that."

"I broke it off with Janet, not the other way around."

"Maybe she let you think that. Women aren't as dumb as you'd like to believe."

He watched her cautiously for a minute. "Are you trying to tell me something, Hillary?"

"Me? I'm just sitting here telling you why I won't have s.e.x with you. I don't trust your motives."

"My motives are pure. I want you."

Her insides began to hum. She ignored it. "You want me to stop writing my story."

"That too," he had the grace to admit. "But mostly I want you."

"You want me, but you proposed to Janet. You want me, but you went to bed with someone else when Janet wouldn't put out. Was your need so great?"

"For you? Yes." He chewed on the inside of his mouth, looking younger, almost awkward. "Take a look, Hillary. You're the only one I want this way."

Her eyes dropped to his trousers. The smooth fabric did nothing to hide his arousal. The sight of it increased the humming inside her, making it harder to ignore. She pressed her thighs together and prayed for strength. She didn't want to give in.

Dropping her forehead to her knees, she murmured, "That doesn't change a thing."

"Doesn't it tell you something?"

"It tells me that you're a h.o.r.n.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but I've known that all along."

"h.o.r.n.y, yes. b.a.s.t.a.r.d? What have I ever done to you that's so awful?"

She looked up in astonishment. "Aside from the whole business with Janet? You pick me up, then drop me, pick me up again, drop me again. You come to me when you feel the urge and leave as soon as it's filled. We spend a long weekend making love, then days go by before you think to give me a call. You keep me separate from the rest of your life, as if I'm not good enough, as if I might spoil something for you. I satisfy one need, and one need alone. You use me, John."

"If I use you, it's because you allow it."

Hillary was incensed. "So it's my fault? Just like it's Janet's fault the engagement ended because she didn't understand the rules?"

"You could say that."

"And Pam's fault that you forced her into an abortion she didn't want? And Patricia's fault that you seduced her behind Eugene's back? And Cutter's fault that you gypped him out of Little Lincoln-or that you had him beaten? I know about it, John. I know about all of it. So if you're thinking that I'm going to look up at you like you're some kind of idol, forget it. You've got feet of clay, just like the rest of us."

He said nothing. After staring at her for a time, he put his hands on his hips and looked at the ceiling. He raked his upper lip with his lower teeth. He hung his head. Then, when she was beginning to feel guilty for all she'd said, to wish that she could go over and wrap her arms around him, he met her gaze.

"Those are some pretty strong accusations."

She shrugged.

"Is that what you're planning to write about?"

"I don't know."

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

She held her breath, then said softly, "Don't, John."

"Don't what?"

"Lay down rules. Make threats."

"I'm simply giving advice."

"Advice that's in your own best interest. But what about mine?"

"It's yours that I'm thinking about," he said and came to her. Bending over, he propped a hand on either side of her hips and lowered his mouth to hers. But while she steeled herself against a kiss, what she got were a series of teasing touches that left her breathless and aching. Moaning softly, she turned her head away.

"You want me." He ran a hand up her leg. "Have you been heavy with it, too?"

"Shhhh."

His breath was warm against her cheek. "You always liked it when I said things like that. It heated you up." He tongued her earlobe. "Are you dripping for me, Hillary?"

She was sure she was. She was melting inside, despising herself for it, but needing him, just as he said. "Go away, John."

His hand was on the outside of her thigh, then sliding around. "Open your legs."

"No."

"Open them. Let me feel."

"No."

But he found his way there anyway, and his breath came sharply. "Oh, yeah. You want me."

"Doesn't mean a thing," she managed to gasp. She was losing her grip, hating it, loving it.

"Hillary?"

"Mmm?"

"Touch me."

"No."

His fingers paused in their deep stroking. "Do it."

Letting out a low whimper of frustration, she unwrapped her arms from her knees. As they spread apart, she felt his arousal through his trousers. But it wasn't enough. Touching him brought back images of what he was like bare, and she was suddenly desperate to feel him that way again.

Hating herself for what she was doing but half-wild with need, she pulled at his belt, unfastened his pants, and lowered the zipper. She slid her hands inside, under the band of his briefs, and with the very first touch she sucked in a breath.

"It's for you," he said in a voice that was low and gritty. "Doesn't get like this for anyone else."

She wanted to believe him, wanted so badly to believe him that when he began to unb.u.t.ton her dress she didn't protest. She stroked him, then raised her hips at his urging. He had her panties off in a second, and in the next had her against the sofa with her dress and her bra wide open, her knees bent and spread.

He dominated her world then, took control, blotted out everything else there might have been. If she'd ever wanted more in life, she couldn't remember. There was nothing but John-John needing her in ways no other man had, ways no other woman could possibly understand. In the afterglow, she truly believed she'd found her place.

Then, speaking quietly in her ear in a voice that was still faintly husky, he ruined it. "Proof is hard to come by, Hillary. Without it your claims are worthless."

They were sprawled on the sofa, a tangle of arms and legs and clothes that hadn't been fully removed. She lay still, trying to take in his words, but the deeper they sank in, the more they hurt.

He raised his head. "Are you listening? Write that story, and there'll be trouble."

For a minute she couldn't move. Then suddenly she felt she was suffocating. Scrambling out from under him, she withdrew to the far side of the room. She held her dress together with a shaky hand.

"Did that mean anything to you?" she asked.

He sat up. "It was d.a.m.n good."

"Besides a lay. Did you feel anything here? Or here?" She touched first her head, then her heart.

"Ah, s.h.i.t," he said and reached for his pants. "Are you going to start in on that? All these years, you were good. That was one of the reasons I kept coming back. You didn't pretend that there was more than there was. You didn't expect there to be." He stood and jerked up his fly. "Do you know how tired I get hearing women talk about love?"

"It scares you, doesn't it?"