‘Some people don’t want to be happy,’ Al warned her softly, pouring himself another glass full.
‘You’re really cheering me up, Al. You really are,’ she said bitterly, holding her glass out for a refill.
‘Sorry.’ But he shook his head at her glass. ‘You don’t want to get drunk, Jolian. You want to go home, take a shower, go to bed, sleep late, and get up fresh tomorrow. Have a bike ride and then come see me for lunch and let’s talk.’ He poured the last of the wine into his glass, downed it with the casual disregard for alcohol of a very large man. ‘Now that is Dr. Frasier’s tried and true prescription. I’ve been there.’
She sighed. Yes, he had been there. Would it take two years to get over Fletch? And this had started out as a celebration of Al’s recovery, not her woes, hadn’t it? Cheer up, Jolian. You can’t miss—‘Okay, doctor, we’ll do it your way.’
She let him order her a cab at the front desk. They were stepping out into the street when the waitress caught them. ‘Miss, is this your hat?’
Jolian laughed and took it from her. ‘No, but I know whose it is.’ She twirled the sky blue beret under Al’s nose. ‘You’re in luck tonight, friend!’
His big hand closed over the soft wool with a delicate, almost reluctant touch as he met her eyes.
‘Where did Karin say that birthday party was?’ she prompted him, smiling.
‘Revere Street,’ he answered. ‘I know the guy that’s giving it, but don’t you think it would be barging in?’
‘Absolutely not!’ Jolian hooked her hand through his elbow and started marching him towards the corner. How could anyone this big be so shy? ‘It’s a cold night, the lady needs her hat, and ... why don’t you tell her she’s hired while you’re at it?’
Al stopped short and turned to face her. ‘You’re sure?’
Smiling, Jolian glanced over her shoulder towards the restaurant. One car had pulled into the kerb just down the block, but it wasn’t her cab. ‘I’m sure she’ll be an excellent sales rep. It’s up to you, Al. Do you want to mix business and pleasure?’
He rubbed the beret slowly across his bearded cheek, inhaling the scent of it in a deep, slow breath, and nodded fiercely. ‘Yes!’ Grabbing her, he pulled her forward into a big exuberant bear-hug and nodded against her hair again. ‘Yes, I do!’
‘So go tell her she’s hired,’ she laughed up at him, patting his shoulders encouragingly.
‘All right.’ Al sucked in his breath, gathering his courage. ‘All right.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘And you tell your rat, next time you see him, that he’s a fool!’ Spinning away, he started down the street with big, determined strides. By the time he reached the next corner, he was running.
Jolian laughed softly, shaking her head. It was better than crying. As a snowflake touched her cheek, she lifted her face to the night sky, waiting for the next kiss of winter.
‘Congratulations,’ a whisky-smooth voice drawled behind her, ‘on your speedy recovery!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Fletch!’ Spinning towards the source of that voice, Jolian caught her heel and nearly went down. Hands clamped around her upper arms. Bruising as they took her weight, they yanked her up against his solid, unmoving warmth. Fingers outspread across his chest, she leaned against him, staring up into that dark, unsmiling mask. He was real. This was not just one more dream: he was real. She pulled a deep, shaking breath and flexed her hands, drawing her fingertips across the roughness of his dark coat, his heart going like a jackhammer beneath it—angry as hell, but real, under her hands. What else really mattered tonight? Her soft, jubilant laughter stopped as he shook her savagely, his breath hissing.
Even angrier than she’d thought ... and the shaking had made her dizzy. Talk, Jolian. Break this deadly silence. She shook her head to shake the curls, off her cheeks and then wished she hadn’t. ‘Fletch, what are you doing he—’
‘God damn you!’ His mouth came down hard against her lips and then froze even as she responded. He thrust her away again and held her off from his warmth a few inches, his eyes glittering. ‘Your hair smells like your friend’s pipe, and you’ve been drinking.’ One corner of his mouth curled in disgust.
She didn’t need this. Didn’t need it at all. Bad enough that he was stomping back into her life, he didn’t have to kick in the door with his stormtrooper boots as well! ‘You ... are ... hurting ... me, Fletch.’ She ground out the words carefully as she shook her hair back again, her eyes widening with her growing anger. She didn’t need this. She was the one with a right to be angry, not Fletch!
‘So join the club,’ he breathed, but the brutal grip eased and her heels could touch the pavement at last. His eyes moved over her, missing nothing from her toes to her throat in a slow survey that warmed her body from the inside out. She was suddenly aware of chilled skin stretching tight over a core of fire, fire that was not all anger, her breasts swelling against the thin wool of her dress. And those green-gold eyes missed nothing. His mouth lifted in a bitter half-smile as his fingers stirred on her arms. ‘Join the club, silky cat.’
That he could light her with just one look—damn his eyes, and damn her body for responding like this! But what had he said, join the club? ‘How—I don’t understand—how have I hurt you, Fletch?’
‘With a good sharp kick in the pride.’ His mouth twisted in savage self-mockery. ‘The tenderest part of the male anatomy.’ His hands tightened again, swaying her forward to brush against the hard length of him, a body to body caress. ‘Two weeks ago you loved me—so you said. And now I suppose you love him.’ His chin jerked in the direction that Al had taken. ‘I suppose that’s where you were last weekend—in his bed? And those nights when I tried to phone you and no one was home—in his bed, silky cat?’ His lips touched the point of her upturned chin, moved slow, warm and hard along her jaw till he breathed in her ear. ‘And those nights when the phone was disconnected—did you take him into your bed, silky? All for that magic word I wouldn’t give you? All for love?’ Fletch’s hands slid slowly around her shoulders and his arms tightened, surrounding her, locking her into this trap of muscle and bone and rushing blood. His lips moved to brush her mouth and then withdrew an inch, hovered just above her as brutal as any threat. ‘So do you love him this week?’ he jeered.
Dizzy. Her heart trapped by the rhythm of his now, beating too fast, hurting her breast. Damn him. ‘What if I do?’ she whispered against his lips. ‘What’s it to you?’
He brushed her mouth again, a touch like that tender, measuring stroke of the cat-o’-nine-tails before the first real blow. ‘Call it morbid curiosity, my little alleycat!’
Alley—! She’d show him some claws if she could just free her hands! His bitter smile widened as he read her struggles correctly and his hold tightened, pinning her forearms against his chest, crushing the last of the air from her lungs. ‘You’re ...’ She stopped, gasping for breath, ‘you’re a fine one to talk ... you, with ... all your women!’
‘All my—’ Fletch laughed incredulously, and his brows slanted up in a derisive shrug. ‘Well, there’s a difference there, silky.’ His grip eased again as she stopped fighting him. ‘I call that what it is—fun and games. No more, no less. You won’t find me tossing around fine words like love, I don’t take that word in vain.’ Lips parted in astonishment, she stared up at him. What did he want? Did he want her to plead her love one more time, insist it was real so he could reject it again? But his mouth came down at last, sweeping speculation before it, bruising her lips, forcing her head back, turning the world into a dizzy, spinning airless sensation of heat and darkness. Nothing was real but the strength of his arms, the pressure of his lips, his breath warming her cheek and rising in white steam around them. The world contracted to this moment and these lips, nothing more. Her fingers curled into his jacket as she held on for dear life.
And then she could breathe again. Her mouth was her own. Shuddering, she ducked under his chin, leaned her forehead against the pulse in hi
s throat, hiding from those punishing lips and inhaling the warm, clean smell of his skin.
But above her, Fletch still had words with which to wound. ‘—at least show some taste in your lovers, can’t you?’ he snarled against her hair. ‘Choose one who’ll see you home, not some clod who leaves you on the corner ... I could have been a mugger, coming up behind you like that!’
Too much! From somewhere she found breath to laugh, laughed in his face as he pulled her out from his neck to glare down at her.
‘Thanks, but I’ll take the mugging next time ... if it’s all the same to you!’ All muggers took was your money. They didn’t stamp your heart on the sidewalk. Her laughter was suddenly too close to tears.
‘Damn it, Jolian!’ Fletch stared down at her, his lips curling despite the anger in his eyes. He shook her gently. ‘Don’t you dare have hysterics on me!’
‘Wi-will if I want!’ she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears.
‘So you’ll have them in my car, then. Let’s go.’ One arm curled around her waist and he turned towards the car at the kerb.
‘No!’ What was she doing, letting him back into her life, into her heart like this without a thought? Nothing had changed. She’d only have to live the pain all over again. ‘No, I’m not going anywhere with you, Fletch!’
His arm tightened, holding her up as she stumbled, sweeping her along beside him., ‘Grow a foot and I might bother to debate that with you.’ They reached the car and he swung the door open, his smile mocking her helplessness. ‘Otherwise, get in.’
Letting him back into her life—ha! She flashed him a bitter look as she sat and swung her legs into the car. But Fletch’s eyes were on her bared knees, not her face. His breath hissed and he reached down, caught her thigh just above the knee, his fingers caressing the slippery smoothness of the dark nylon. Clenching her teeth over a wordless gasp, Jolian glared up at him, but her body arched with its own response as his fingers tightened.
‘Silky...’ he taunted softly, his smile a reckless promise as he met her outraged eyes. Fletch shut the door and strode around the front of the car with long, unhurried steps.
She should run for it—run for dear life. But her knees might not hold her, and Fletch was in the car already, the slant of his eyebrows warning her not to try it. She curled away from him into the corner next to the door, her arms folded, her eyes wide and defiant as the car swung into the traffic. A cab pulled into the kerb to take their place. And now what? What now, and what next? Taking a deep, shaking breath, she turned to watch him.
A pirate, that was what she’d thought the first time she met him, and Fletch looked the part again tonight with the street lights flashing and then fading across that hard half-smile. A smile that did nothing to hide the anger still blazing just beneath it. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked at last, keeping her voice soft. Music to soothe the savage breast.
‘Home.’ His eyes stayed on the street ahead. She watched his long fingers clench on the steering wheel, then slowly relax again.
So home, and then what, with him in this mood? And what did she want? It would help if she knew that. She wanted no more pain, but which was the worse pain? Losing him once again or having him here in this savage mood? She studied the hard, clean lines of his profile with hungry eyes. ‘How did you find me?’
They turned on to the bridge before he answered. They would be home soon—too soon. ‘By luck,’ he growled at last.
‘Which kind, I wouldn’t know.’
Above them the clouds had cracked open, heaven’s gates swinging wide to show the full moon, a silver magician ruling a curve of midnight blue. Fletch’s eyes swept through her and past to stare out at the dark river, the moonshine and the lights of the town glittering on it like the scales on some magical snake.
‘I’m staying at the Ritz Carlton, around the corner from where we met. I’d given up on finding you at home tonight, was coming back for something to eat when I saw you and your—’ The car stopped for the light at the end of the bridge and Fletch swung around to face her, caught her chin in a bruising grip, his eyes raking her face.
‘That hurts,’ she said evenly, her eyes steady.
‘Good.’ But the grip eased. One of his brows lifted and he shook his head slightly, his eyes questioning.
‘What?’ she asked softly, dipping her chin so that her bottom lip brushed his knuckle.
She might have burned him. Fletch’s fingers whipped away and he turned back to the wheel, cursing suddenly as a car honked behind them. They swung on to the parkway. Not far now. Too close, too soon, and what then? ‘What?’ she asked again.
Fletch shrugged tightly, his lips curling in an ironic smile. ‘I’m just trying to figure out who and what you are, Jolian. I can’t correlate the girl I left two weeks ago, crying on a couch, with the one who kisses dancing bears on street corners.’ He shot her a rueful, savage look. ‘I told you you’d live, not to live it up, dammit!’
It should have been funny, but it wasn’t. Fletch didn’t want her love, and he didn’t want her to give it elsewhere, either. That made lots of sense, didn’t it? She bit back an angry, bewildered laugh. And he thought she’d been living it up these last two weeks? It had barely been living! No, living it up was his style—Mr. Fun and Games. No doubt Fletch had consoled himself with all kinds of games and fun!
‘There’s just one thing I have to know,’ Fletch growled, turning into her street. The car glided into the kerb and he cut the engine off, turned to face her in the sudden quiet. ‘Are you doing this to prove something to me—to make me sorry—or is this just your usual pace, a new lover every three weeks?’
‘You—were—never—my—lover!’ She ground the words out, her eyes flashing.
‘So, that can be corrected, silky cat!’ His face was murderous as he yanked her forward.
For a minute there, it was closer to war than love as they struggled against each other, their breath hissing. A war Jolian was losing as Fletch pressed her back over his encircling arm and his kiss pinned her there. Bruising and caressing her lips, he forced them apart for his pleasure, laughing his soft, wordless triumph into her mouth.
She was losing, but what a loss with his heart slamming against her breasts. As her eyes closed, strange patterns of light starred across the inside of her lids, red flares exploding above their battlefield. What a loss! Smiling into his kiss, Jolian suddenly relaxed. She had only been dreaming of these lips, these arms, this dark, angry face for two weeks—for all her life—so why fight them? As his face lifted above her at last, her fingers curled into the thick, wiry hair at the back of his neck and she pulled him down again.
‘Damn you!’ Fletch whispered, but this kiss was gentler.
Headlights swept across the car’s interior as another car turned into the block. ‘Damn.’ Fletch lifted his head slowly, sighing against her cheek. His fingers ruffling slowly through her hair, he watched the car park, then turned back to her, his eyes black in the dim light. His other hand found her face, explored the hollow below her cheekbone down to her lips with one not quite steady fingertip, traced her shaky attempt at a smile. ‘Let’s go up,’ he whispered.
Jolian forgot to turn on the light at the foot of the stairs. They went up through the dreamy, jagged darkness, the moonlight through the landing windows beckoning them higher. And what do you want? she asked herself as they climbed. What? But how could she think with Fletch one step behind her, his big, restless hand on her waist? How could she think with that hand stroking down the curve of her hip, sliding warmly, slowly down the back of her thigh as she moved? Hard enough to breathe in this dark, rhythmic ascent, much less think. The darkness was making her dizzy, but if she fell, Fletch would catch her ... had caught her already.
At the door, her fingers were shaking too much to fit the key in the lock. Fletch didn’t help. He came to stand just behind her, his fingertips exploring the curves of her breasts, her ribs, gliding slowly down across her stomach, pulling her bac
k against the hard, urgent length of him. His touch was fever-hot and harder now as his hands curved round the front of her thighs. ‘You silky!’ he exulted in her ear as she leaned back against him. She could feel his heart pounding against her shoulder blade. As his lips burned the nape of her neck, sent slow, liquid fire spiralling down her backbone, she shuddered and threw a hand up, burying her fingers in his thick hair.
Somehow the key in her other hand found the lock and slid home with a soft click. But she couldn’t turn it—shouldn’t. Fletch reached past her and turned it for her.
This was crazy, begging for heartache, running to meet it with each of them wanting something so different. She turned in the tight circle of his arms, her lips parting, and his fingers found the slide of the zipper between her breasts.
She should say something. The moonlight lit his eyes as he looked down at her, waiting for her to speak, daring her to deny him, his eyebrow slanting up with the question.
And what did she want?
She wanted that zipper opened. Her breasts rose with a deep, sobbing breath, pressing up against the weight of his hand. And his answering smile was slow, slow as the deliberate, rippling tick of the zipper as he pulled the slide down.
Cold air on her skin and then hot hands ... fever-hot hands sliding around her waist. Goosebumps rising everywhere and her nipples aching for his touch. She leaned against the wall, shuddering as his lips found her throat, burned their slow, melting way down her body to her wisp of a brassiere. Teeth bit her gently through the lace and her gasp echoed in the hallway. Her hands closed around the back of his head, pulling him closer.
Dizzy, dizzier and floating now as he lifted her, spinning as he turned to the door. His heart beating against her side as he held her, her whole body throbbing to its rhythm. Door opening then shutting behind them, Yaffa’s half-purring complaint at Fletch’s feet. Floating, so safe, so warm, as he moved across the room, her soft cry was a protest as Fletch set her on her feet by the couch. His hands closed on her shoulders, holding her away from his warmth.
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