She knew she was trembling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the cool air on her skin or the cold hand around her heart.
“I didn’t invite anyone into my bedroom,” she snapped, eyes flashing.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, no? Perhaps I misunderstood. You said you were unlocking the door, then mumbled something like ‘meet me in the bedroom.’ “
Jennifer had an uncharacteristically angry reply on the tip of her tongue, but suddenly she realized he really believed what he was saying. He thought she’d invited some man in here, and what’s more, he didn’t like the idea. Her anger faded as she watched his face, intrigued.
“I said I was going into the bedroom to dress,” she told him. “I wasn’t expecting you to come along.” She blinked at him. “How did you get in, anyway?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I have a way with security guards,” he said easily. “They seem to trust my face.”
She licked her lips. “You—you surprised me.”
He was making her very nervous, the way he stood so still, his eyes taking in everything and making no sign that he was ready to leave her alone. In fact, there was something in the new light that filled his eyes that told her he had no such intention—that he was perhaps about to make up for all those years of his own suppressed longings.
He was dressed in a royal blue turtleneck sweater that hugged the rounded strength of his chest and dark slacks that did the same to his legs. His dark hair fell over his forehead, shading his eyes. “Life is full of little adventures,” he drawled. “Isn’t that what you always used to tell me? Things get dull when you don’t grab hold of opportunities that come your way.”
He took a step toward her, and she took a step back. “My name is not opportunity,” she reminded him quickly. “I don’t need grabbing. Why don’t you just go out into the living room and give me time to dress?”
“Not a chance.”
His voice was low and casual, but she felt the heightening tension in the room. This was different. This was just a little scary. He’d never done anything like this before.
What if he had? Would that awful summer when she’d had to leave home have happened? If he’d told her how he felt from the beginning, when they were young, would she have been protected? Maybe he should have, or maybe she should have made him—her thoughts were in a whirl.
He came closer, and she backed up as far as she could, coming up against her bed with the back of her knees. She teetered there, about to fall down across her spread, but his hand captured the back of her head, steadying her, and he held her still while he gazed down into her dark eyes.
“Have I ever kissed you before?” he asked curiously.
He didn’t even remember! It was a moment that had kept her warm on many stormy nights, and he didn’t even remember.
“No,” she lied to him as she stared up into his infinite eyes. “You’ve never kissed me before. And you’re not going to kiss me now.” She tried to twist away, but he held on.
“That’s where you’re wrong” he murmured, holding her closer. “Don’t play at being coy, Jennifer. It doesn’t ring true.”
His eyes were glazed with a look she’d never seen in them before. In fact, he seemed almost a stranger. She’d never expected him to act this way. Was it only because he thought casual lovemaking was normal for her? Or was there another reason? Did he really care? Was there really something between them, something denied too long?
His touch was sure and direct. Her heart was thumping so loudly, it seemed a part of the music from the next room. She felt like a helpless child watching a wave break over her head, knowing there was no way to escape the coming flood. Still, she couldn’t give in without a fight. She steeled herself to avoid his mouth as he came closer.
But he didn’t aim for the kiss she’d expected. Instead, his lips just barely touched the line of her neck, working slowly up, with soft, stroking kisses that brushed her senses alive, to a place behind her ear that sent chills racing through her body. He stopped there, breathing deeply, as though to take in every nuance of her—her warmth, her scent, her texture.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked breathlessly, standing stiffly, hands still holding the caftan to cover the front of her body.
“I’m not thinking at all,” he told her, his voice muffled by her hair. “I’m just doing.”
She felt his free hand on the silky material that covered her back, sliding slowly, inexorably downward, until it found her bottom, fingers spreading to take in every curve. His touch felt so very warm through the cloth, tantalizing on her cool skin, so very seductive, that instead of protesting or trying to pull away, she found herself sighing with pleasure, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.
“Please, Reid,” she murmured without much conviction, “please don’t.”
His breath tickled her ear as he turned toward her lips. “I’ll stop if you can give me one good reason why I should,” he told her with husky insolence. “Just one good reason.” And then his mouth covered hers, and the wave broke, crashing around her with all its glory, sweeping her away, out into a sea of tempestuous seduction that she could never resist.
Was there a good reason? If there was, the battering of the wave had knocked it out of her head. She couldn’t think of any sort of convincing defense against the onslaught of his passion. And yet, she wasn’t a totally willing partner to his embrace. She was scared, so scared, even though this felt like a logical culmination of the years and years of longing.
She felt the caftan slipping away, and she reached out to catch it, but her hands sunk instead into the soft cashmere of his sweater and stayed to find the solid man beneath.
His touch was sweet magic on her skin, his hands smoothing away her fears, his tongue creating its own excitement as he explored the warmth of her mouth, coaxing, inviting, inciting her desire. He pulled away the lacy blue camisole, and there was nothing covering her now. Her taut nipples rubbed with exquisite friction against the soft wool of his sweater. Her passion came alive, forcing her to follow its lead as she pressed herself against Reid’s hard body.
It was all right, her mind whispered seductively. This was what she’d dreamt of so many times all those years ago. She had him at last. He wanted her. It was all right. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Little by little, her resistance relaxed, letting her natural instincts take full rein. As his kiss deepened, his hands grasped her buttocks, pulling her hips up hard against his, and she moaned.
She found herself murmuring a protest as he drew away, but it was only to reach down and lift her onto the bed. Snuggling back into the soft covers, she smiled up dreamily as he leaned over her. He pulled his dark sweater up over his head, and she reached with both hands to gather in the heat that rose from his smooth chest.
He turned his attention back to her, dropping his hand to touch first one swelling breast, then the other, then trailed a line of tingling fire down past her navel to the dark heart of her desire, hidden only by a tiny scrap of lacy fabric.
“Oh!” She gasped, and arched beneath his hand, closing her eyes and feeling the heat seep through her thighs, stretching to his touch.
“You are the most beautiful woman.” His voice was husky with emotion. “I hardly dare to touch you, you’re so perfect . . . You always were.”
She didn’t know how to answer him, but she didn’t need to. She could feel the warmth of his feelings for her. He wanted her body, but it was more than that. How much more, only time would tell. She hardly dared think about her dreams and hopes. It was safer just to feel.
She tried to judge from the look in his eyes whether he was teasing her. But he turned away, and then his mouth was closing on the dark peak of her breast, his tongue twisting about the nipple, tempting it even higher, even tighter, until all thoughts of questions died away, and she writhed, ready to scream with the agony of wanting him so.
The music from her stereo was still loud, still hammering
away with a contagious beat that seemed to echo the pounding of her blood. His body was hard and smooth and taut with a barely restrained hunger under her hands, and she reached to pull open his belt with a growing sense of impatient urgency.
But before she had drawn the leather fully through the brass buckle, a new sound broke the concentrated noise coming from the living room. Her doorbell was chiming again.
She went very still, eyes opened very wide. Reid slid his leg across her, holding her down.
“Ignore it,” he ordered gruffly. “They’ll go away.”
“But if you didn’t lock the door when you came in—“ she began.
“Hey, Jenny, you home?” Eddie’s voice rang clearly through the apartment, rendering the rest of Jennifer’s statement unnecessary.
Reid swore softly but with harsh emphasis, then rolled away from her across the bed. Jennifer scrambled to her feet and reached for her underclothes.
“I’ll be out in a second, Eddie,” she called quickly. “Just wait a minute.”
She pulled on her slacks and sweater in record time while noting from the babble of voices that Eddie had brought others with him. Reid was shrugging back into his sweater.
“Hey, what’s going on, Jenny?” Eddie asked loudly to make himself heard above the stereo. “From outside it sounded like you were having a party in here. Where are all the people?”
Jennifer shot Reid a quick look of apology. Her guests were going to see the truth soon enough. She knew she might as well make the best of it.
“It’s kind of a small party, Eddie,” she called back. “All the people are right here.”
She came through the bedroom door and into the hall that led to the living room with Reid right behind her, steeling herself to meet the astonished stares of her friends. Reid might assume her bedroom life matched the abandon of her other adventures, but those who knew her better had never seen any evidence of it—until now, anyway.
“This is Reid Carrington, everybody,” she said, smiling brightly.
“A very old friend,” Eddie repeated automatically from the first introduction, as though he were trying to make sense of it all. “I remember.”
She looked at Reid, wanting to take his arm but not quite daring to. Her mind was racing with conflicting emotions. She was going to have to shelve the thinking for later. She wasn’t sure just what had happened here tonight, or where it was leading. But she knew one thing for sure: he’d wanted her. That much was undeniable. But was there more to it? She hardly dared to hope.
“Did you all like the movie?” she asked, trying to break the awkward silence as her friends stared at Reid and he glared defiantly back at them. “Can I make anyone a drink? Why don’t we all sit down.”
Reid’s hand was on her elbow. “I’m afraid there won’t be time for that,” he said smoothly. “I’m sure you all will understand. Jennifer and I were just leaving.”
She twisted, trying to see into his blue eyes.
“We were?” she echoed.
He looked down at her, and the moment their eyes met, his expression softened, as if he melted at her warmth. She felt something explode in her chest as she noticed it, catching at her breath, quickening her heartbeat. Of course they were leaving. She would go anywhere with him. She would do anything at all. She hardly heard his next words at first.
“We were,” he repeated. “I came to take you home. Didn’t I mention that?”
The sound of his words didn’t give her a warning at first. It was only when she reached beyond sound and came to the meaning of what he’d said. Her pulse was still racing, but now it was urged on more by fear than by any softer emotion.
He wanted to take her home. Ah, yes. Of course. The glow that had held her a few inches off the ground faded away, and she landed back on earth with a jarring thump. Home. He wanted to take her to Destiny Bay. He wanted to convince her to come back.
“It’s too far,” she said woodenly, vaguely looking around for something to lean on, to hold on to. “It’s too late.”
“One step at a time,” he replied. “I’m taking you to my house first. Then we’ll see if you can face your parents.”
She shook her head, feeling slightly dizzy. When was she going to learn to keep her dreams simple? Every time she’d hoped Reid would see her as someone other than an impossible child who did stupid, crazy things, she was disappointed. He didn’t care about her at all. He just wanted her back home.
“I don’t want to go.”
He took her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze again, looking down at her as though they were all alone. “You must come, Jennifer. I’m taking you whether you want to go or not.”
His eyes were filled with starry lights, and she wanted to lose herself there, wandering in some distant universe, never coming back to face reality.
“No,” she whispered, knowing she hardly had the strength to resist.
“Yes,” he answered, and then he was leading her toward the door. “Can you see that her apartment is taken care of?” he asked Eddie. “She won’t be back for a few days.”
“But what about the Munch?” he cried, looking stricken.
“Take care of that, too. She needs a small vacation.”
CHAPTER FOUR:
Going Home
The night was inky black. Jennifer watched the headlights flash by on the freeway. Chances were that real human beings lurked behind the blinding lights, but there was no sign of them from her vantage. She shivered and looked around for something cheery to think about.
“Look!” she cried in delight as she recognized a well-known landmark along the side. “There’s the fancy miniature golf place we used to call Ventura’s little Disneyland!” She smiled affectionately at the lighted crest of the phony snow-capped peak, just barely visible above the buildings and bushes. “Disneyland. My favorite place in the whole world,” she murmured.
“It would be,” Reid muttered.
She glanced at him, wondering if that was an amused comment or an accusation. She couldn’t get a proper fix on the man, even after the scene in her bedroom.
“Do you remember that time we went to Disneyland together?” she asked, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth.
His silver-blue glance flickered over her and then went back to concentrating on the road. “No.”
“Oh, come on.” She gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. “You remember. I was seventeen. My mother fixed me up with Reggie Fairfax, the third, and your mother fixed you up with that snooty girl—what was her name? Pamela Bennet. They made us all four go together. I think you were supposed to be chaperoning me or something. Do you remember now?”
He was keeping a straight face, but it was obviously an effort. “Probably not,” he said gruffly, not looking at her.
She chuckled. “Yes, you do. We were both with the world’s worst dates. They refused to go on any decent rides. So we ditched them. Remember? We left them at that ice cream plaza watching Mickey Mouse dancing around with Pluto, and we snuck off.”
He was shaking his head, but he was smiling.
“Yes. And you held my hand on the Matterhorn.” She poked him again, and his smile widened into a grin. “And tried to make me sick in the spinning tea cups.” He actually chuckled. Her eyes narrowed. “And made mad, passionate love to me on the Pirates of the Caribbean.”
His head spun and he stared at her. “I don’t remember that.”
She shrugged, eyes dancing. “Neither do I. But it would have been fun.”
The slow smile forgave her for the teasing, but his attention was back on the road. She turned and reached into the back of the car for her guitar, glad she’d managed to persuade Reid to give her time to pack a few things before they actually left her apartment.
Propping herself in the corner, leaning one shoulder against the car door, she strummed softly, humming one tune, then another.
“Sing something,” he suggested.
She’d sung for him before, but somehow s
he couldn’t do it right now. Singing was too intimate, too personal. She didn’t trust Reid or the situation they were in. Until the boundaries were more certain, she wouldn’t risk exposing too much. She let her nail travel the length of a string.
“Tell you what,” she said, remembering his passion when he was in college, “I’ll play old folk songs, and you try to name them.”
He grinned, and she felt her heart lighten. “The last time I heard you play, you were trying to adapt a Michael Buble song to a reggae beat. ‘Feeling Good’, wasn’t it?”
He slid a sideways glance her way. “When did you become an expert on folk music?”
She lifted her nose in the air. “I was young and foolish then. Believe it or not, I’ve matured.”
“In your own inimitable fashion.” His voice was full of amusement. “But where did the folk music come from?”
She shrugged, settling in to get more comfortable, glad to have hit upon something he approved of. “I’ve met a lot of interesting people in the last few years, including some old hippies and a couple who were beatniks in the fifties. They turned me on to the Weavers and Woodie Guthrie and all those people.”
He seemed bemused. “Wow, the real thing. I’m afraid I’m not quite that esoteric. My background runs more along the lines of Peter, Paul and Mary . . . and the Kingston Trio ... but go ahead. Try me.”
He was just being modest, she soon found out. She played a few notes, and he murmured, “Joan Baez, ‘Plaisir D’Amour.’”
She nodded, impressed, and began a new tune.
“ ‘Buy for Me the Rain,’ Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, 1967,” he shot back before she had a chance to get into it.
Her jaw dropped. “Hey,” she cried, “you’ve played this before!”
“Do another,” he urged, like a gambler on a roll.
She did another. Or at least a note or two of it. And he guessed it again. “You ought to go on that game show,” she grumbled when he’d guessed the tenth in a row without a hitch. She grimaced and put on a baritone that attempted to mimic his. “ ‘I can name that tune in half a note.’ “
My Little Runaway (Destiny Bay) Page 5