Ruthless

by Lisa Jackson

  “Good idea.”

  She started gathering her things, picking out the photographs she needed and scooping them into a pocket of her case, but he grabbed her arm, forcing her to spin around and face him again.

  She swallowed hard.

  “Just explain one thing,” he ground out.

  “Name it.”

  “If you loved me,” he said quietly, every feature on his face tense, “then why didn’t you wait for me?”

  “I didn’t want to be a burden,” she said quickly, thinking for a second that the truth was better than the lies they’d both been living with for years.

  “A burden?”

  “You had a future—a chance for a berth on an Olympic team. You didn’t need a wife tying you down.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously and his nostrils flared, but his hard mouth relaxed slightly. “We could have waited until the Olympics were over and I had started my career.”

  She licked her lips. Could she tell him about the baby? Now, when honesty seemed so vital? Would he understand? Instinctively, she reached for his forearms, her fingers touching rock-hard muscles. “There’s something else—”

  But before she could finish, he lowered his head and his mouth slanted over hers in a kiss as familiar as a soft summer breeze. His arms surrounded her, crushing her against him. He tasted of chlorine and salt and whiskey, and she felt his thighs press intimately into the folds of her skirt.

  She offered no resistance and kissed him back. Being held by him seemed so natural and right, and all the wasted years between then and now melted away. Once again she was seventeen, caught in the embrace of the man she loved.

  Groaning, he shifted, his wet trunks dampening her dress, his fingers catching in the long strands of her hair. Her head lolled back, and her mouth opened to the insistent pressure of his tongue. Quick, moist touches of his tongue against the inside of her mouth caused her blood to boil, her knees to weaken.

  He kissed her lips, her cheeks and her throat. Closing her eyes, she ignored the warning bells clanging wildly in her head. His touch was erotic, the hand against the small of her back moving deliciously.

  “Melanie,” he whispered hoarsely. With his weight, he lowered her to the floor and pinned her against the carpet. Still kissing her, he found the buttons of her blouse, and the thin fabric gave way to expose her breasts covered in lace.

  Stop him! Stop him now! But when his palm glided over her breast, she could only moan and writhe as his fingers dipped beneath the lace, gently prodding, touching and withdrawing until her nipple strained tight against the bra and her breasts ached for more.

  With agonizing slowness his tongue moved along her cheek and neck and rimmed the circle of bones at the base of her throat. Her own hands were busy touching and exploring the corded strength of his chest and the fine mat of hair that covered suntanned skin. His shoulder muscles were hard as she reached around him, and her fingers dug into his back as he continued to kiss her, moving downward.

  “Gavin,” she cried as his mouth fit hot and wet over her nipple. His tongue touched her in supple, sure strokes that caused her blood to burn and wiped out any further thoughts she had of stopping him.

  He suckled through the lace and moved one free hand to cup her buttocks, bringing her body so close to his that she could feel his thighs and hips straining against the fabric that separated him from her.

  Lord, how she wanted him. Nothing else mattered but the smell, taste and feel of him.

  Finally, he unhooked her bra; the lace gave way, and she felt cool air against her bare skin before his mouth covered one breast and teased and laved the taut nipple.

  She cradled his head against her, wanting more, knowing that only he could fill the ache that was beginning to yearn deep inside.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered, drawing up and away from her, staring down at her tight abdomen and soft skin. Groaning low in his throat he squeezed his eyes shut for a few heart-stopping moments, and when he finally lifted his eyelids again, the passion burning so brightly in his gaze had died. “What’re you doing to me?”

  He rolled away from her and sat with his back to her, his rigid arms supporting him as he drew in deep, ragged breaths. “Damn it. Why can’t you just leave me alone?” His voice was rough, the hand he plowed through his hair trembling.

  “I didn’t start this, Gavin.”

  “Well, you sure as hell didn’t stop it!”

  Humiliated, Melanie sat up and started working on her clothes. “This wasn’t my fault,” she said, still buttoning her blouse.

  “Wasn’t it?” he flung back at her, glancing over his shoulder before pushing himself upright. His features twisted in pain for just a second as he strained his ankle.

  “Of course not!” she declared hotly. “And I’m tired of you always throwing the blame at my feet!”

  “Maybe that’s where it belongs.”

  She swept in a long breath. “You can really be a bastard when you want to be.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t seem to mind sometimes.”

  “Maybe that’s because sometimes, when you’re not trying out for boor of the year, you’re wonderful.”

  He stopped, his eyes locking with hers. Time stood still. His throat worked, and his face gentled for just a second. Warring emotions strained his features. “You’re dreaming! Living in a past that didn’t exist.”

  “Gavin—”

  Swearing roundly under his breath, he hobbled toward the bookcase. He opened an upper cabinet, withdrew a bottle and glass, then poured himself a quick drink. “Why didn’t you leave a couple hours ago?” he asked suddenly. “What were you doing hanging around?”

  “I wasn’t finished sorting through the pictures.”

  He tossed back half his drink and stood rigidly near the windows. “Or you were waiting for me—because of that,” he said, cocking his head toward the now ruined snapshot of the two of them.

  “No, I just stumbled across it. But don’t worry, I’m leaving now.”

  “Not quite yet,” he said, slowly drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, as if he were wiping off excess whiskey—or the feel of her kiss.

  Furious with him, she grabbed her camera bag and slung the strap over her shoulder.

  Gavin set his unfinished drink on the window ledge and closed the distance between them. “There’s something I have to know,” he said quietly, though his anger was still evident in his uncompromising expression.

  “It’s too late for this discussion.”

  “Just one thing,” he said again, his features set.

  “What?”

  “Why did you marry a bastard like Brooks?”

  “It’s none of your business,” she lied.

  “Like hell. Why, Melanie?” he thundered.

  She slowly counted to ten. There were reasons, but they wouldn’t come to mind. Melanie grappled with the truth, wishing she could just tell him about the baby they’d never shared.

  “I’m waiting,” he said, his voice low. “Was it because of his money? Is that what you found so attractive?”

  “No!”

  “God, I hope not,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But I can’t help wondering why you’re hanging around here, lingering in my room, more than willing to seduce me.”

  “What?” she gasped. “I wasn’t lingering and I had no intention of seducing anyone!”

  “You could’ve left.”

  “I told you, I wasn’t finished.”

  “Well, you are now.”

  “You got that right.” She grabbed her purse and swung toward the door, but one of Gavin’s arms snaked out and surrounded her waist.

  “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

  There was nothing she could say to change the past. With a sinking sensation, she realized that telling Gavin the truth about the baby would only increase the tension between them, making it impossible for her to work with him. “I don’t think your question merits an answer.”

  “
You walked out on me—”

  “No, Gavin. You did the walking—or to be more precise, the skiing,” she charged, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. “You just skied your way out of my life and I fell in love with someone else.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he found her reason bordering on the ridiculous. “You loved Brooks? After me?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Save that for someone who’ll believe it. You sold out, Melanie, to the almighty dollar.”

  Without thinking, she slapped him with a smack that echoed through the room. Gavin’s teeth set, and he clamped both hands over her arms. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I’ll try never to get that close!” Her voice shook with anger.

  “Then you’d better stay out of my bedroom.”

  “You’re what? Oh, God, Gavin, don’t flatter yourself!”

  His eyes blazed, and his fingers dug into her flesh. For a few seconds they glared at each other, breathing deeply, fury and other, more dangerous, emotions tangling between them.

  Gavin sighed finally. “You make me crazy,” he admitted. “Same here. It’s a bad combination.”

  Something flickered in his gaze, and then his mouth crashed down on hers. She wanted to fight him, to stop this insanity, but when his lips molded over hers intimately, she couldn’t resist.

  Closing her eyes, Melanie willed herself not to respond. Though her heart was thudding wildly, her blood on fire, she set her jaw and acted as if she could barely endure the kiss.

  But Gavin didn’t give up. His lips coaxed, his hands moved magically across her back, and at last she gave into her weak knees and leaned against him.

  “Why do we always have to hurt each other?” he whispered raggedly.

  “I don’t know.” Her heart felt as if it might break all over again. Slowly Gavin released her.

  “I don’t believe you ever loved Neil Brooks,” he said quietly.

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe,” she lied. Reaching behind her, she found the door handle and yanked it open. As quickly as her legs would carry her, she walked through the dark lodge and outside, where she took in deep breaths of fresh air.

  Her legs were unsteady as she walked to her car, but she held her chin up and decided that Gavin Doel, damn his black-hearted soul, was going to be harder to deal with than she’d ever imagined.

  She tried to start her car, but it stalled. Slowly counting to ten, she tried again. This time the old engine sputtered and caught. She didn’t waste any time. Shoving the Volkswagen into first, she barely noticed the battered old pickup that pulled into the lot. She had other things on her mind.

  “Don’t be a fool, Mel,” she told herself as she turned on her headlights, but she had the sinking sensation that she was falling in love with him all over again.

  * * *

  Gavin grabbed his drink, almost tossed it back but at the last second chucked the whiskey down the drain. He didn’t usually drink—at least, not the way he had in the past few weeks. Having lived with an alcoholic father, he had always been careful with liquor.

  Until he’d seen Melanie again. Just being with her, gazing into her intelligent eyes, seeing glimpses of her sense of humor, touching the slope of her jaw or burying his face into the clean scent of her hair, made him crazy.

  “Get a grip on yourself,” he said, knowing that alcohol didn’t solve any problems. He twisted the cap on the bottle just as he heard footsteps in the outer lobby.

  He froze. Melanie? Back? God, how was he ever going to keep his hands off her? He’d intended to kiss her to prove that he could kiss her without his emotions getting in the way, to prove that he really didn’t care about her—

  “Gavin?” a rough male voice called out.

  “In here,” he replied. So his old man had made it back to Taylor’s Crossing. Ignoring his cane, Gavin crossed the room and held open the door, letting the light from his apartment spill into the hallway.

  “Oh, there you are! This place is a goddamn maze!” Jim Doel, tall and gaunt, his hair snow-white, strode down the hallway to Gavin’s apartment.

  “It just takes a while to get to know your way around.” Casting a critical eye on the rooms his son now called home, Jim took a seat on the raised hearth of the fireplace. “Quite a comedown from what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

  “It’s all right.”

  “And you’re already fixin’ it up. I saw the rigging.” He rubbed his hands on the faded knees of his jeans.

  “It should be finished by the time ski season opens.”

  “That’s not so far away.” Jim noticed the bottle of whiskey on the table and glanced meaningfully at Gavin. “I saw you had a visitor.”

  Gavin braced himself.

  “That Walker girl still sniffin’ around?”

  “She’s a photographer for the paper.”

  “So what was she doin’ here so late?”

  “Rich hired her to do some publicity for us. Brochures, maps, that sort of thing.”

  Jim raised an interested eyebrow. “And where is Rich?”

  “In Portland.”

  “Convenient.” Jim reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

  Gavin thought about protesting, but decided the grand opening was months away, and instead of upsetting his father, he could open a couple windows once he was alone again.

  “I think it’ll work out.”

  “You thought that before,” Jim observed. He lit up and clicked his lighter shut.

  “What’re you trying to say, Dad?”

  “Nothin’, nothin’.” Jim drew hard on his cigarette. Gavin waited as his father blew smoke to the ceiling, “I’m just a little concerned, that’s all. That girl hurt you once before.”

  “Water under the bridge,” Gavin lied.

  “Is it, now? I wonder. But then, I guess I don’t have to point out to you that she didn’t bother to wait for you when you took off for Colorado. No siree, she just up and married Neil Brooks within weeks after you left.”

  “What’re you getting at?”

  “She’s fickle, that one. First you, then the minute you’re gone, she puts the richest boy in town in her sights, marries him, then when she gets bored, divorces him. Now she’s back here, making herself available because you’re back in town—and now you’re probably the richest man in town.”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  Jim shrugged. “Well, she does seem to be developin’ a pattern, doesn’t she?”

  “What do you know about her marriage?”

  “Nothing except it was short. Six years or so, I think, and then she comes back when her dad gets sick.” Jim’s face grew tense. “I never did like old Adam Walker, you know. He never forgave me for what happened to his wife.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Gavin said, hoping to ease some of his father’s pain.

  Jim sighed. “But it’s something that’ll stick with me until the day I die.” He cleared his throat and tossed his cigarette into the grate. “You don’t know how many times I prayed I could’ve changed things.”

  “Probably just about as many times as I did,” Gavin admitted.

  Scowling, Jim looked his son straight in the eye. “Don’t get mixed up with Melanie. She’ll only hurt you again.”

  Gavin bristled. “I survived.”

  “If that’s what you call it.”

  “Look, I can make my own decisions. Now tell me, what else is on your mind?”

  “I thought maybe you’d give your old man a job.” Seeing that Gavin was about to protest, he held up one hand. “Hey, you’ve been good to me. If it hadn’t been for you, I probably never would’ve dried out. And for that I owe you. But I’m tired of being a charity case. This time I want a job—a real, bona fide job. I’m not old enough to be sent out to pasture yet, and I’m handy with a hammer and nails. What d’ya say?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next three weeks went by in a blur. Indian summer waned, and
the air turned brisk and chilly. Gray clouds lingered over the Cascades, promising early snow.

  Melanie barely had time to notice the change in the weather, let alone eat or sleep. When she wasn’t at the newspaper office, she was working in her studio or at the lodge, where she tried to keep her distance from Gavin. She wasn’t always successful.

  Fortunately, he, too, was working day and night. They spoke to each other only when absolutely necessary. She dealt primarily with Rich Johanson, unless he was out of town, and somehow managed to keep her relationship with Gavin strictly professional.

  She was friendly, businesslike and cheerful, hiding her innermost feelings. Gavin was cordial but reserved, and glared at her suspiciously whenever she seemed in a particularly good mood.

  The tension hovered between them, gnawing at her insides while all the time she plastered a smile on her face.

  She was lucky on one count. Gavin and Rich had no trouble agreeing on pictures for the brochure. When she showed them her favorite shots, they weeded out the ones that didn’t fit their image of the resort.

  Rich slipped the good shots he needed into an envelope and said he’d take them, along with the copy he’d written for the brochure, to a printer in Portland.

  Gavin handed Melanie a sealed envelope with a check inside and said, “Good job.”

  The words sounded hollow, and Melanie, despite her fake smile, was miserable. She couldn’t wait to get through the charade and regretted taking the job.

  As for the resort, the renovation of Ridge Lodge was on schedule, and the parking lot, lodge and lifts teemed with construction workers. A handful of employees had already been hired for the operation of the lodge and lifts, and a chef, a doctor, building supervisor and an equipment manager were already on staff.

  Jim Doel, who had recently returned to Taylor’s Crossing, had been hired as a handyman, and Melanie had kept her distance from him as well as from his son. Though Jim was never openly hostile, Melanie sensed his animosity whenever she dealt with him. And she, too, hadn’t resolved all her feelings toward him. As much as she wanted to rise above it, the simple fact was that he’d killed her mother and robbed her of a normal childhood. Maybe that was Adam Walker’s fault. Her father had spent years bad-mouthing the man.