by Ruth Wind
Abruptly, she ducked her head. “I hope you like everything.”
Jake respected her obvious need to put some distance between them. He stepped away casually. “Let’s see what we can put together.” He cocked his head and moved into the kitchen. On the radio in the living room, he heard the DJ announce a triple play of the Allman Brothers. “Hey! Will you turn that up for me?”
“Sure.” She grinned, and the slightly saucy Ramona was back, just that fast. “Now, why am I not surprised you like the Allman Brothers?”
“Don’t you?” Through the pass-through bar between kitchen and living room, he watched her lean forward, her hair swirling over her shoulders as she studied the various knobs. “The one on the right.” Her derriere stuck out at the most appealing angle, and he inclined his head, admiring it. “You have a sweet little rear end, Doc.”
She gave him a wry glance over her shoulder as the music came up, playing “Jessica.” “You’re a skirt chaser, Mr. Forrest.”
He cocked his head in acknowledgment, grinning as sweet Southern guitar music filled the room. Together with Ramona’s gifts and the sheer pleasure of her presence here, the music made him feel hopeful. Even cheerful.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said, taking quilted glasses of ruby-colored jelly from the basket, along with the loaf of sourdough. “Bless you,” he said, and gave the package a little kiss. “Mmm, sourdough. I love this stuff.”
“What can I do?”
“Just stand there and let me admire you. Or—” he gave her a wicked grin “—admire me.”
She crossed her arms. “I can stand here and be beautiful. You, however, look like a boxer who came out on the wrong end.”
“True enough.” He turned to switch on the oven, then opened the fridge. “Ah!” He pulled out a wedge of Brie, still in the wrapping, and a bowl of ripe strawberries he’d bought this afternoon. He put them on the counter and swiveled around to the wine, his eyes narrowing. “Montrachet?”
“If you say so. You’re the expert.”
He winked. “Elegant, with a pretty band of pear.”
“I can only have one glass, though—I have a mom-to-be about to go into labor any moment.”
“Understood.” Deftly, he opened the cheese, wrapped the bread in foil and put them both in the oven. “Now,” he said, opening the dry white wine, “we have to do this right.” He poured a little of the Burgundy in each of two glasses and gave her one. “Swirl it like this.” He gently demonstrated. “Now lift it to your nose and sniff. What do you smell?”
Ramona closed her eyes. “Forest?”
“Good. Now sip just a little and swish it over your tongue.” Again he demonstrated. Imitating him, Ramona swished, her pretty mouth pouting nicely. He swallowed. “What do you taste?”
Ramona cocked a brow. The earthiness that was so much a part of her glinted now in her dark eyes. “Elegant with a band of pear.”
Jake laughed. “Quick learner.”
“Mmm.” She held out her glass and let him fill it to the brim. “It really is wonderful.”
“Yeah.” And she was wonderful. Summer-light air poured through the open door to the balcony, scented with pine and mountain and meadow. From the oven came the mingled richness of Brie and sourdough bread, and in the living room, a bluesy guitar danced as if intoxicated by the heady fragrances.
And to his amazement, Jake was fiercely glad to be alive, to be experiencing this moment. He bent over and pressed his mouth to hers, touching only her lips, nothing else. Just for a moment, a moment when he tasted wine and summer on her pretty pink mouth, a moment when he smelled sweetness in her hair. She kissed the way she did everything, with full, sensual awareness, and her slow, savoring responses made him dizzy.
Swallowing, he straightened. “I’m really glad you came over,” he said, and brushed a finger over her cheek.
Her smile was womanly and warm. “Me, too.”
The cat, having made his rounds, wandered back into the kitchen and rubbed against Jake’s legs. “I guess I need to feed you, too, huh?” He took a slightly chipped ceramic bowl from the cupboard, put it next to the wall and filled it with the food Ramona had brought. The cat nibbled delicately, settling in. Jake stroked the long, pale gray fur, and the cat purred softly, almost continuously. “I’m really touched, Ramona,” he said. In fact, it was hard to remember the last time he had been so moved by anything. “What should I name him?”
“He’s your cat.”
“Okay...how about Plato?”
She snickered. “Beep. Boring.”
Jake smiled. “Look at those tufts of hair around his ears. He looks like those pictures of Einstein. How about Albert?”
“How about Mr. E?”
The cat looked up curiously. Jake and Ramona both laughed. “Mr. E it is,” Jake said.
“I think so.” She looked up at him, smiling.
Jake was suddenly filled with a fierce wish to touch her, to put his hands under that thick hair, against her neck. He found himself staring at her mouth, pink and full. She looked away.
A new song came on the radio, and he felt his foot tapping in time to “Midnight Rambler.” “Come on, Miss Hen,” he said, taking her glass and setting it beside his on the counter. He grabbed her hand. “Time for another dancing lesson.”
“There isn’t much room,” Ramona said, nevertheless allowing herself to be led.
He tugged her into his arms, lacing his thighs with hers. “We don’t need much for this kind of dancing.” He put his hand flat on the small of her back and pulled her into him, the position intimate and suggestive. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”
She looked vaguely alarmed, but against his palm, her spine softened. Her hands landed on his shoulders. “Like this?”
“You got it.” Looking down at her, he started to move. “Now let yourself just swing a little, back and forth.”
He closed his eyes to let just the music and Ramona come in, nothing else. He could feel her heat, the swish of her hair against his arm and the exact moment she let go.
They flowed together as one swaying branch of a tree, swirling and turning in perfect accord. “You’ve got it,” he said, and bent his head to touch the side of hers. He clasped one of her hands in his own and let his other hand slip lower, cupping her bottom and pressing her even closer to him.
And Ramona, sweet and shy, moved with the sensual abandon of a Gypsy, arching her back, letting her body brush his, their thighs slide and tangle. He turned his head and kissed her neck and she sighed against him.
The slow, erotic, thudding notes of “Whipping Post” came on, and Jake groaned, pulling her closer yet. “I love this song.”
“Mmm.”
He let his hands rove over her body, sliding them up and down her sides in time to the music, skimming the outer curve of her breast, the plumpness of her hips, the channel of her spine. Quietly, he hummed along with the music, feeling part of it, part of her, part of the golden lateafternoon summer sunlight that warmed his lids.
Her nose brushed his throat, and Jake pressed his cheek to her hair. “You feel so nice,” he murmured as the song wound down.
The DO broke in, shattering the mood. Jake realized his thumbs were stroking the sides of her breasts, and her mouth was on his throat. She pulled away a little, lowering her head.
“Wow,” she said, and looked up. An earthy laugh rolled out of her, husky and sexy.
Jake cupped her chin and kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth in an urgent, heated demand. She met it breathlessly, then pulled away. “The food is going to burn.”
“Damn!” He jogged into the kitchen, smelling scorching cheese, and pulled out the metal sheet. “We’re safe,” he reported. “Just in time.” With a towel, he retrieved the bread and put it on the counter next to the melted cheese.
Ramona came in behind him. “Good. I’m starving.” She leaned over the counter and grabbed her wine. The action made her breasts swell over the top of her shirt, givi
ng him a lovely view of the creamy curves. Her hair was slightly tousled from the dance, and her cheeks were ruddy with color. She reached for a strawberry, swirled it through the cheese and popped it into her mouth.
Jake watched her, mesmerized by a kind of desire he’d never experienced in his life. He’d wanted women before. He’d even fancied himself in love once or twice, but never had he felt this need to make love so fiercely, not only in his hands and mouth and aroused organ, but also in his feet and knees and throat. He wanted to turn her to oil, so he could spread the essence of her all over him, turn her into food and eat her, make her smoke so he could inhale her.
She sucked softened Brie from her finger, seemingly oblivious to his condition. Then she lifted her eyes, those big brown eyes, and they were heavy lidded with desire and invitation, and be understood that her sweetness was only one side of her. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
Jake dipped his finger in the warm Brie and held it out to her. Without looking away from him, she swayed forward and took his hand to hold it steady, then took his finger in her mouth and sucked the cheese off.
His control snapped. With a growl, he grabbed her arms and stretched them above her head. “You’re making me crazy,” he said, trapping her between his body and the wall. She made no protest, only lifted luminous eyes to him. Pressing his whole length against hers, he kissed her. Fiercely.
And she kissed him back, her mouth and tongue meeting his every thrust with a kind of wild eagerness. He released her arms and put his hands on her shoulders, sliding them down to touch her breasts, her waist, her hips, tugging her against him. “Damn, Ramona, I want you.”
Her hands pulled at him and roved over him, sliding open palmed over his buttocks, down the back of his thighs, upward again to his waist. She kissed him greedily, then pulled his shirt out from the back of his jeans, and, Jake felt the tingling brush of her fingers on his naked skin with a force like a hurricane.
Turning slightly, he lifted her to the counter and settled her there so he could reach her more easily. She didn’t break the kiss, only settled on the counter and wrapped her legs around him. Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, and Jake pressed his hips closer as he in turn unbuttoned her blouse.
Shoving the fabric away, he touched her breasts above her bra, nipping at her lips lightly as he did so. She moaned with pleasure, low in her throat, and her fingers dug into his shoulders as he spread his hands over the thin, silky bra. Her nipples nudged the heart of his palm, and he moved lightly, teasing them to harder points. And all the while, their tongues meshed and danced and swayed together, exploring, delving, drinking.
It seemed as if he’d been waiting to do this for an eternity, since that day of the wedding, and now he found himself almost mad with the need to touch her and hear those breathless, pleased sounds coming out of her as he stroked her aroused nipples through fine silky cups, and plunged his tongue deep into the heat of her mouth, and felt her tighten her thighs around him, pulling his arousal closer to the heated core of her.
Jake put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his head, kissing her throat, her collarbone, and finally closing his mouth around her nipple, nibbling a little through the fabric. She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, and Jake did it again on the other side.
He rocked his hips against her, feeling her response, and finally he simply reached up and pushed her shirt and bra off her shoulders, trapping her arms at her sides. He couldn’t catch his breath, looking at her luscious pink-and-cream breasts, firm and supple and oh, so ripe. He opened his mouth on her, feeling his breath come from him in ragged, hoarse gasps. The taste of the pebbled flesh against his tongue nearly sent him over the edge.
He lifted his head, dazed and awash on a wild current of need. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, mouth open. “You’re wonderful... and real...and beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her between words. He tasted her lips and her chin, touched her breasts, then slid his hands lower.
She stared at him, her eyes wide and wanting and wary all at once. “I keep trying not to want you,” she said. “But it isn’t working.”
“And I keep telling myself you deserve a lot more from me than what I’ve given you. I keep telling myself if I was any kind of honorable man, I’d just leave you the hell alone.” He drew a line down her face, over her lips and down her neck. He wanted to touch every inch of her, to kiss her and know her. He wanted to please her, satisfy her. “Touch me, Ramona,” he said in a raw voice. “I want to feel your hands on me, too.”
She swayed forward, that earthy, knowing smile on her face, and kissed his mouth, his chin, his throat. She traced a cross over his chest, throat to belly, then nipple to nipple. She moved without haste, and he loved the richly sensual slowness, the way she savored the act.
He closed his eyes with a groan, burying his hand in her thick hair. “I somehow knew you’d be like this, Ramona, so full of passion.”
Lingeringly, she pressed her lips to his chest. “It’s you, Jake,” she murmured. Her hands moved surely to the top button of his jeans.
Jake found he could scarcely breathe for anticipation. In a haze, he looked at her, so pagan and beautiful and sexy, and knew it wasn’t him at all. Like the herbs in her kitchen and the plants tumbling from every surface in the house, this was but another element of her lusty zest for living. For being.
In the background, the radio still played on, something quiet he didn’t know, and it seemed perfect for this moment, for Ramona. For a heart-stopping moment, the strange sense that he might be falling in love wove through him, alien and exhilarating and terrifying.
And then all thought fled as she unbuttoned his jeans and slid her hand inside to close on his hardness. He gripped her shoulders as she caressed him, breathing encouragement, even as he tugged at the shirt that still clung to her. She resisted his efforts to take it off, and he closed his hand around hers. “Why?”
She only shook her head—but with a flash of insight, Jake thought he understood.
He deliberately put his hands on her belly. It was not slim. It was not flat. It was plump and soft and white, and he wanted to press his face into the comforting flesh. He lifted his head and caught her eye. “You’re incredible,” he said, “and beautiful.”
And to his amazement, they were not just words to make her feel better. He’d never realized how soft a woman like this would feel. He’d never understood that the planes and angles of an elegantly thin woman would never cushion or comfort the way her body did. He kissed her deeply, gratefully, hungrily, and slid his hand down between her legs to caress her there, urgent need growing in him by the second.
Suddenly, a shrill electronic sound burst into the moist sound of their breathing and kissing and gasps. Jake, delirious with kissing her, did not immediately lift his head. Her tongue was a sin all its own, agile and daring, wanting more.
But the noise came again, and Ramona pushed him away. “My beeper!” she cried, looking wildly around for it. Shoving her hair from her face, she said, “Hand me my purse.” Reluctantly, Jake did. “I have to call,” she said seconds later, and Jake handed her the phone. Tugging her shirt around her, she slipped by him and reached to punch in the numbers.
Jake gave a quiet, disappointed curse and marginally readjusted his clothes. To distract himself, he lifted his glass and took a sip of wine, but even that could not compare with Ramona. He eyed her hungrily as she rang the number. From where he stood, a generous view of breast was visible at the opening of her shirt, and he knew he’d never again see her wear anything with buttons without imagining that sight.
“This is Dr. Hardy,” she said into the phone. “I was paged.” She listened, then, “How far apart are the pains?”
Jake’s mood crumbled. Even he knew enough to realize a baby was on the way. With a groan, he struggled to refasten the buttons of his jeans, wondering if he’d lost his only chance to have her, or if she could be coaxed back.
As she spo
ke, he approached her, slid his hand into the opening of her shirt, then pushed her hair out of the way so he could kiss the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, but her voice was steady as she said to the person on the other end of the line, “I’ll meet you at the clinic in ten minutes.”
She hung up and Jake groaned, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t you call another doctor?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she offered reluctantly.
She ducked to elude him, but Jake caught her against him, clasping a naked breast in each hand as he pressed his mouth to her shoulder from behind her. “Don’t go, Ramona. Please.”
For a second, she softened against him, sighing. Jake pressed his hips into the fullness of her bottom. She trembled slightly and surrendered as his hands moved restlessly, urgently, on her body, his teeth against her shoulder. Fiercely, he sucked at a tender place at the base of her throat, and she groaned, her hands gripping his thighs behind her.
“Jake,” she whispered, “I have to—”
He opened his mouth and wildly planted kisses to her ear, to her neck. “No,” he growled, and turned her gently in his arms. He picked her up and put her against him, holding her bottom until she wrapped her legs and arms around him. The position was exactly right for the marriage of his mouth and her breasts. She gripped him in a swoon of shuddering passion, straining against him for a long, delectable minute. Jake felt mad with want of her.
But she pushed him away again. “Jake, stop. I have to go. I don’t want to any more than you do, but this woman is counting on me.” She put her feet down and pushed away gently. “You have to let me go.”
A dark emotion rushed through the blur of his desire. He dropped his arms. “Fine. Go.”
Silently, she dressed. “Jake, this is part of my life. You have to understand that.”
He closed his eyes, recognizing the emotion roiling inside him as jealousy. “I do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Her smile was lightning bright, and she sailed across the small space between them to press a fervent kiss against his mouth. “Good. I’ll see you soon.”