Where There's Smoke

by Doreen Roberts

She made a soft sound deep in her throat. Her eyes looked dark and misted.

  “Claire,” he said, his voice breaking, “you are beautiful.”

  He felt her hands beneath his shirt, warm fingers sliding over his skin as she pushed the fabric up his chest. He lifted his arms and let her pull the shirt off over his head, his breath catching when he felt the tip of her breasts brush his bare skin.

  He wanted to feel her nakedness against him. He reached behind her and unhooked the bra, then let it fall. For long seconds he drank in the sight of her thrusting toward him, eager for his touch.

  Then, with a growl, he wrapped his arms around her and let his body sink against the smooth, firm mounds of hot flesh. Fire spread quickly through his loins. He ached with his need; he hurt with it.

  In a swift movement, he caught her behind the knees and lifted her off the floor. For a long moment he looked deep into her half-closed eyes, then he headed for the bedroom.

  Chapter 9

  She knew what she was doing. She was a big girl. She knew it would eventually bring heartache and there would be nights especially, when she would deeply regret what she had done.

  But right now, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the soft bed beneath her and the man kneeling above her, looking at her as if she were the most desirable woman in the world.

  That’s how she felt. Desirable. That’s how he made her feel. She lifted her hand, a hand that felt heavy and languid, and ran the back of it over his chest and down his belly.

  His eyes seemed to go dark, and he lowered his head to kiss her on the mouth. She wanted to touch all of him and know every inch of his body. His knees straddled her, and she stroked her hands up his thighs to his hips.

  His groan delighted her, and she smiled against his mouth. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered.

  “Seducing you, I hope.”

  “You’re succeeding.” His lips moved down her neck to her throat.

  “Good.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as he moved his mouth over her breast. “What are you doing to me?”

  “This.” He ran his tongue down to her nipple. “And this.”

  Her sharp moan seemed to come from deep in her groin. The desire rose swiftly, hot and urgent as she felt his warm breath on her belly. Then she lost all coherent thought, driven by a need so potent, so demanding that her mind and body became a unity of exquisite torment.

  The sensations he aroused in her writhing body erased all notion of time or place. She was absorbed by his touch, immersed in his emotion, driven to the edge of insanity by his ceaseless assault on her senses.

  She wanted to give back what he gave her, but she was out of control, drawn along on the wild, primitive journey of his lovemaking, until at long last he buried himself inside her, bringing her to a full, explosive release from the torturous pleasure he’d inflicted on her.

  When at last he was still, lying moist and panting at her side, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had experienced something unique, something she had never known before. And it would have to last her a lifetime.

  * * *

  They sat on the couch together in the living room later, sharing cheese and crackers, washed down by a pot of coffee.

  “Tell me what made you decide to come back to Oregon after all these years,” Turner said as he helped himself to more crackers.

  Claire pulled his robe closer around her. The air had cooled considerably from the heat of the day. Or maybe it was the chill forming inside her that made her feel cold. She sipped at her coffee before answering him, hoping to feel some warmth from the steaming cup.

  “I’ve always loved Oregon,” she said, nursing the cup in her hands. “I always knew that one day I’d come back here to live. I was getting tired of all the travel, of never having a place I could really think of as home.”

  “You had an apartment in D.C., though, didn’t you?”

  She looked at him. At the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. His straight brows above the ice blue eyes. The full bottom lip that gave him his sensual appeal. He had pulled on his pants, but wore no shirt. She wanted to stroke his bare chest again.

  “I had an apartment, yes, but I was hardly ever in it. I spent more time in hotels than I did there.”

  She dragged her gaze away from him and tucked her feet beneath her to warm them. “It wasn’t only the time I spent away. It was the fact that I never bothered to buy all the little knickknacks that make a place homey. So even when I was at the apartment, it felt just like a hotel room.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” His gaze traveled around the living room. “I’ve often thought that this place lacks a woman’s touch.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She tried not to imagine what it would be like to make a home for a man like Turner Mitchell. “Well, anyway, I was tired of the job. I’d saved some money over the years, so I decided to come back here and start up my own business.”

  “You never did tell me what kind of business it is.”

  “Answering service.” She smiled. “It won’t make me rich, but I should be able to make a living. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s talking to people.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ve noticed.”

  Quickly she lifted the cup to her lips and drank.

  “So you have family here?” he asked after a pause.

  “No.” She hesitated, wondering how much to tell him. “My mother is dead,” she said after a moment. “My father remarried. They were living in Florida the last I heard.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head. “Only child.”

  “That must have been lonely. I think a child misses a lot by not having kids to grow up with.”

  Claire shrugged. “I had friends.”

  “It’s not the same. Friends tend to drift apart when they grow up. I’m all in favor of big families myself.”

  Reminded painfully of her flaw, she nevertheless felt compelled to ask, “You come from a large family?”

  He nodded, his face softening. “Five of us. All boys. Grew up on the Oregon coast. Small-town stuff. My dad had a fishing boat. Hauled in crab mostly. That was back in the days when a good living could be made from it.”

  “Where are they all now?”

  “Spread all over. We get together now and again. Not as often as I’d like.”

  “And your parents?”

  “Both dead. My father drowned in a boating accident. My mother a couple of years later. I don’t think she wanted to live without him.” He rested his gaze on her face, warming her once more. “They had a good marriage,” he said softly. “They adored each other.”

  “That’s nice.” She felt bad, knowing he must be thinking about his own marriage. She was surprised when he began talking about it.

  “I guess that’s why I felt so bitter about Stacey,” he said, staring down at his cup. “I grew up with the idea that anyone could have a successful, happy marriage if they worked at it. Pretty naive, I suppose.”

  “It takes two people to work at it.” Even now, she found it difficult to believe Stacey could have deceived this man.

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “Oh, I’m not saying it was all her fault. We came from different worlds. That’s what attracted me to her in the first place. She was so different from anyone I’d known. I couldn’t believe she could be interested in a country boy like me.

  “Stacey grew up with money, the fast life of the city and all the culture that goes with it. Her idea of a good time was a weekend on the French Riviera. Mine was pottering around the garden and a barbecue with the kids at sunset.”

  Searching for an excuse, any excuse for the friend she had loved, Claire said hesitantly, “Maybe if you’d had more children.”

  He uttered a short laugh. “Oh, I wanted them. I wanted more kids. We argued about that more than anything. That and money. Stacey didn’t want to get pregnant again after Harrie was born. She said she couldn’t bear to go th
rough all that hassle again.”

  “I’m sorry.” Life was very unfair, Claire thought wistfully. She would give everything she had for the ability to be pregnant.

  “Yeah, so was I. But I guess now, looking back, it was just as well we didn’t have any more. For one thing, I would never have had the time to spend with them. I was too busy trying to make enough money to keep Stacey in the style she’d been used to.”

  He stretched his legs out in front of him and stared moodily at his bare feet. “Maybe if I hadn’t left her alone so much...but for me to earn that kind of money I had to work long hours, weekends. It was never enough. No matter how much I made, it was never enough. She could spend it faster than I could make it. I didn’t know until after she died the full extent of what we owed. I sold practically everything I had, including the house, to pay it all off.”

  “And then you moved to Coopers Landing,” Claire said, finally understanding.

  “I didn’t want Harrie growing up with the values her mother had instilled in her the first five years of her life. Not that I could have given her that kind of life, anyway. I was pretty much broke after I’d finished paying off all the bills. I heard about the lease available on the shop and the cabin that went with it. I managed to get a loan, quit my job and moved out the next day.”

  Once more his gaze roamed around the room. “I might not have much, but it’s mine. This lawyer business will set me back some, but the loan will be paid up by the end of the year, and after that I won’t owe anyone a cent.”

  He put his cup down on the table and stretched his arms above his head. “Then I’ll be able to do more for Harrie.” His expression changed and he lowered his arms again. “That’s if I still have Harrie.”

  “You will,” Claire said fiercely. “I’ll see that you will.”

  He smiled then and ran the back of his forefinger down her cheek. “You’re a wonderful woman, Claire. I used to think you were like Stacey, but you’re not. Not at all. You’re warm, generous, considerate.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her lips. “And as sexy as hell,” he finished, his face still close to hers.

  She felt it build again, the wonderful, exciting, stimulating, tormenting desire for him, drawing her once more into that misty world of passion and love. Shaken by the emotions she felt, she tried to hold on to her defenses.

  “I should be going,” she murmured.

  He drew back, looking shocked. “Going? Where?”

  “Home.” She tried a laugh and failed. “I do have an apartment and a business to take care of, remember?”

  He shifted closer, until his thigh and hip fitted snugly against hers. Putting an arm around her, he slipped a finger inside the folds of the robe and drew it over her breast. “It’s late,” he said softly, “it’s dark, and it’s lonely here without you. If you think I’m going to let you walk out of here tonight, lady, you’re crazy.”

  “Turner—” Whatever she was going to say was lost as his mouth covered hers. With a murmur of pleasure, she gave herself up once more to his skillful touch.

  * * *

  Claire awoke in the morning to the sound of birds chirping loudly outside the bedroom window. She was alone in the bed, the imprint of Turner’s head still in the pillow.

  She touched the hollow, smiling. He had woken her in the night. She’d had her revenge by waking him up just as the sky had begun to glow with the first rays of the sun.

  His protests had quickly turned to pleasurable moans as she’d touched him, arousing him instantly. It had been swift, urgent and incredibly satisfying.

  Afterward he’d held her in his arms, muttering something about her making an old man of him, and seconds later had fallen back to sleep. She had watched him for a long time before drifting off herself.

  Now she was alone, and she stretched, savoring the wonderful relaxation of a woman who had been thoroughly loved. Even as she did so, reality seeped back, bringing with it a deep sense of melancholy.

  It was over. She had to put a stop to it. She couldn’t go on deceiving herself and leading him on. It couldn’t work. He wanted kids, a family for Harrie. She could never give them to him. “We argued about that more than anything.”

  She should tell him the truth, she thought, and immediately dismissed the idea. Knowing Turner, he would pretend it didn’t matter. And it did matter. It mattered a great deal to him. How long before that started to eat away at him again? How could she endure his pity, knowing she wasn’t woman enough to give him the one thing he desperately wanted?

  She rolled onto her side, burying her face between her arm and the pillow. She would not cry. Not now. Not in front of him. Not until she was back in her apartment, alone and out of sight. Then she would cry. Only then.

  She heard him come in the room and gathered every ounce of fortitude she possessed. The fragrant aroma of coffee warned her he was near, then she heard his voice, close to her ear.

  “Wake up, gorgeous. I want a kiss before I have to leave.”

  Forcing a smile, she lowered an arm. Pain pierced her heart as she looked at him, a pain so sharp it caught her breath. “Hi,” she said softly when she could speak. “What’s your hurry?”

  “I have to go open the shop.” He put the steaming cup on the bedside table and lowered his weight onto the side of the bed. “Believe me, there are things I’d rather be doing. But this is the weekend when I do most of my business. I have to be there.”

  “Oh, right.” She twisted onto her back, tugging the sheet over her breasts. “Hope you have a good day.”

  “I will, knowing I have something to look forward to at the end of it.”

  Something must have shown in her face, as his expression changed. “You will come back this evening, won’t you? Have some dinner with me? You can help me cook.”

  The longing was so fierce she had to press her arms down hard over her breasts to stop from reaching for him. “I’m sorry, Turner, I would love to. But I have an appointment this evening. It’s business.” The lie stuck in her throat and she swallowed hard.

  His disappointment banished his smile. “Oh, sure, I understand.”

  She continued to look at him, praying he would soon leave so that she could get out of there. She saw his brow crease, and a look of uncertainty appeared in his eyes.

  “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” he asked.

  “Wrong?” She didn’t know how she managed the laugh. “The only thing wrong with this beautiful morning is that Harrie isn’t here to share it with us.”

  He nodded, his expression grave. “Yeah. I miss her, too. But I think you are right. I think it’s all going to work out. In fact—” he bent down and gave her a swift, agonizingly poignant kiss “—I’m sure of it. And as soon as the right moment arrives, I’ll tell you why I’m so sure.”

  He gave her a boyish grin. “I’d better get out of here, before I start something I’ll want to finish. I’ll call you, okay?”

  She nodded, the lump in her throat too big to allow her to speak.

  His gaze swept over her, then with an exaggerated sigh and a resigned shake of his head, he left her. She knew, in that moment, that no matter what she did or wherever she went, she would never escape the pain of losing him.

  * * *

  The day passed swiftly for Turner, who was besieged by the weekend crowd of boaters looking for supplies. Whenever he had a spare moment to think, his mind whirled back to the sweet hours of the night and the incredible joy of discovering the woman who could arouse such highly charged emotions in him.

  If the memories were tinged with a slight uneasiness, he banished it, telling himself it was his imagination. She had felt what he’d felt, known what he’d known. He was certain of it. They were perfectly attuned, sharing the most intimate secrets of mind and body, reaching a plane far above that of two people satisfying a physical need.

  He couldn’t wait to see her again. His body ached to hold her again. Time and time again he reached for the phone, only to be stopped by a
nother customer or his own reluctance to push too hard, too fast.

  He knew what he wanted. And not only would it give him the greatest joy a man could know, it would solve all his problems with Harrie. Just as soon as the time was right, he was going to ask Claire Spencer to marry him.

  He returned to the cabin late in the evening, unwilling to face the lonely evening ahead of him. He missed his daughter with a dull ache that wouldn’t go away. It helped a little when he placed a call to the Bridgemonts and talked to Harrie, though it worried him that she sounded so despondent.

  She had looked at the pictures Detective Howard had brought to the house, she told him, but didn’t see the man from the woods in them. Then she asked him when she could come home.

  He promised her it wouldn’t be for much longer. He had hoped to hear from the police that they had tracked down Newberg’s killer. Even though he knew it was unrealistic to expect results this soon.

  He hung up, and the ache intensified when he thought about Claire and the night they had shared together. He missed her, too. More than he would have thought possible.

  Soon, he told himself as he stuck a frozen pizza in the oven. Soon they would all be together as a family. The thought made him feel wonderful. With a woman like Claire by his side, his life would be complete.

  He found it hard to believe she hadn’t married before this. At least, she hadn’t mentioned anything about being married. He frowned for a moment, remembering his uneasiness, then shook his head. No, she would have told him. He was sure of it. He had to stop questioning like this, suspecting things that weren’t there. He couldn’t let one mistake control his life.

  He waited until the next morning to call her. He awoke early and lay listening to the birds, remembering the morning before when she’d brought him awake with her soft touch, driving him wild.

  God, how he missed her. He hurt to have her in his arms again. He couldn’t stand the thought of another night without her body beneath him, ready for him, waiting for him to bury himself inside her.

  Unable to lie there any longer, he sprang out of bed and reached for his robe. It was sweet torture to wrap himself up in it. It still bore her fragrance, that faintly exotic blend of spices and blossom. It made him think of tropical islands and South Seas winds.