Sunny Chandler's Return
Page 17
“It’s getting late and I’ve got five pages to rewrite tomorrow.”
With one lithe movement, he was on his feet, facing her and bracketing her shoulders between his hands. “It’s not that late. I’m not finished.”
“Well, I am.” She tried to squirm free, but he wouldn’t let her go. He wasn’t hurting her; his eyes exercised far more force than his hands. He could have compelled her to stay even without touching her.
“He asked you to dance, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“What did you dance to?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Like hell you don’t. You remember everything else. What did you dance to?”
“What does it matter?”
“Precisely. What does it matter?”
Resigned, she said, “The crowd had mellowed out. They were playing a lot of slow dances on the jukebox. Neil Diamond, late Beatles, the Carpenters.”
“Got any?”
He released her and walked over to the wall that had a sound system built into it. He began riffling through the wooden rack that held her compact discs.
“No, I don’t have any of those,” she said. “I don’t think. I’m not sure.”
“Then we’ll improvise. Chicago or REO Speedwagon? ‘Careless Whisper’ by Wham? What do you prefer?”
“This is crazy. Do you mean for us to dance?”
“That’s the general idea. It’s in the script. I need to research it.” He chose the Chicago album and turned on the sophisticated machine. In a moment the music filled the room from various hidden speakers. He adjusted the volume to suit him and came back to her. “How did he hold you?”
“This isn’t necessary, Rylan.”
That was the first time she had used his name. It had been spoken in exasperation, but he’d take it any way he could get it. Smiling, he slid his right arm around her waist. “It’s necessary for me.”
“Why?” She resisted when he tried to draw her closer.
“Because we haven’t filmed this scene yet. I want to get it right.”
“I sound like a broken record. Read my book.”
“I have. It says in effect that you danced and that it was very romantic. Not much for an actor to go on.”
“That’s the director’s job, to interpret the scene and put it on film.”
“He’ll set up the scene, Kirsten, but I’ll bring it to life. By the time it’s over, every man in the theater should want to be me and every woman you. Now concentrate.”
The order was directed as much to himself as to her. Because with the contact of their bodies, he’d felt an onslaught of desire, and the only thing he could really concentrate on was being inside her. And he knew in that instant that it would happen. If he died trying, he would have carnal knowledge of this intriguing woman.
“I’m Rumm and I’ve just met an incredibly attractive woman that I’ve got the immediate hots for. What do I do? How do I act under those circumstances?” He yanked her up hard against him. “How did Rumm hold you when you danced? Did he hold you like this?”
He was holding her in the traditional waltz position, except much closer than most ballroom teachers would have thought appropriate or even feasible for intricate steps.
“Yes, at first.”
Rylan began to lead, moving them in time to the moody strains of “Inspiration.” Their dancing consisted of little more than swaying in rhythm, a brushing of two bodies electrically charged, a flirtation of masculinity with femininity. Vertical foreplay.
“Was he shy with you? Did he hold you this close?”
“Yes.”
“To the first or second question?”
“The second. Charlie was never shy.”
“Did he rest his cheek against your hair?” When she nodded, Rylan pressed his jaw against her temple. “Like this?”
“Yes, only . . .”
“Only?”
“Only he was a few inches taller. He had to bend down more.”
“Well, I’m not going to dance on tippy toes, so we’ll have to make do with this. Besides,” he whispered, “I like the way we fit.”
Their bodies did fit phenomenally well. They meshed perfectly. As though they had been blueprinted to fit together, his maleness nestled in her feminine softness. He couldn’t stop himself from nudging her lightly. The cloth of her dress was sheer and giving, so that it was like there was nothing between them except his jeans. He could barely hear the music over the pounding racket his pulse made in his head.
“Anything else I should know?” he asked. He lightly blew against the wispy strands of hair that lay on her neck.
“He was brawnier than you. I remember feeling very safe when he put his arms—”
She broke off, and Rylan angled his head back and looked down at her. “Where?”
“Around my waist,” she replied hoarsely.
He linked his hands at the small of her back and pulled her even closer against him. Higher. His body settled more deeply into the cove of her thighs. “Like this?”
She nodded. Leaning back slightly, she gazed up at him, as though trying to clearly distinguish Charlie Rumm’s face from his. “His hair was lighter than yours. And curlier. The texture was different.”
“Texture?” Rylan asked, pouncing on the word. “Did you touch his hair that night?”
She shook her head. Her eyes were filled with contradiction and bemusement. “I . . . you’re confusing me. I don’t remember.” Her head fell forward onto his chest. Her arms were dangling loosely at her sides.
“Were your arms like this when you danced with Charlie, Kirsten?” She rolled her forehead against his sternum in a negative motion. “Where were they?” he asked gently.
Somnambulantly she raised her arms and looped them around his neck. She had small breasts. Her position only served to make the nipples more prominent.
Rylan drew in a hissing breath. “Is this when you touched his hair?”
“I think so. I must have run my fingers through it.”
She matched action to words and it was all Rylan could do to keep from moaning as her fingers sifted through the hair at his collar. “How does mine compare?” He didn’t give a damn. He only wanted to know how his felt to her.
“Yours is sleeker. Softer. Longer. Not as coarse. Not as curly.”
He nibbled at the outer point of her eyebrow. His hands splayed wide on her bare back. “Were you wearing a backless dress that night?”
“No. It was fall. I had on a sweater.”
She had the smoothest, most unblemished skin he’d ever felt. “Were you wearing a bra?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am blessed.” Groaning, he rubbed his chest against her breasts. When the tips tightened into harder points, he cursed beneath his breath. “Did you know he was getting aroused?” He rubbed his lower body against hers.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“How long did you dance, Kirsten? Hours, I hope?” Though heaven knew that if they had, Rumm had more stamina than he.
“No, just a few songs. My friend came up and told me that she was going home with her pilot.” She dropped her arms from around Rylan’s neck and pushed herself out of his embrace. Short of reverting to caveman tactics, he had no choice but to release her. She walked over to the stereo, and when she switched off the music, it created a noisy silence. “Gallantly, Charlie offered to take me home.”
“Gallantry wasn’t his only motivation,” Rylan muttered thickly.
She faced him angrily. “He was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t try anything.”
“I’m sure he was a gentleman.” He took enough steps to reduce the distance between them considerably. “But I’m also just as sure that he was horny as hell and wanted more than anything to take you to bed.”
“How would you—”
She never vocalized the rest of her question. He saw her eyes sweep down his body, saw her startled expression when they confirmed her suspicion.
; “Right, Kirsten, you’re better off not asking,” he said softly. “Did Charlie kiss you good night?”
“Is it in the movie script?”
“There’s an obligatory kiss in the script. But we want to sell tickets. Did Rumm actually kiss you that night?”
With an affirmative bob of her head, she began backing away from him.
“What kind of kiss was it?”
“You’re the expert screen kisser. I’m sure that however you handle that first kiss will satisfy your audience.”
“I’m sure it will too,” he said with conceit. “This is for my own satisfaction. Was Rumm hesitant, not wanting to offend you? Or did he want that kiss so badly that he didn’t give a damn if he offended you or not?”
His better judgment warned him that he was courting disaster. Neither of them was emotionally stable enough at that moment to handle what was about to happen, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was either going to kiss her or he was going to die.
He had a lot to live for.
“Was his kiss sweet, chaste, and nice? Or was it hard, hungry, and carnal? Was it anything like this?”
He hooked his hand around the back of her neck. Before she could recover from her surprise, they were mouth to mouth.
All similarity stopped there if her first kiss from Charles Rumm had been awkward and bumbling in any way. If the young Navy pilot had bumped noses with her, apologized self-consciously, and tentatively tried again to do better, then their first kiss didn’t even resemble the one Rylan impressed on her mouth now.
Instinctively he angled his head in the opposite direction of hers and sealed their lips together with just the right amount of possessiveness and pressure. If Charlie had given her several closemouthed, tight-lipped, dry kisses before working up enough courage to use his tongue, then Kirsten was no doubt surprised with Rylan’s indelicacy. His tongue arrowed into her mouth with one swift thrust. It stroked her evocatively, unapologetically, masterfully.
Rylan knew that for as long as he lived he would never forget this first taste of her mouth. Lord, she was sweet. Her mouth opened up to his like a flower, then her lips closed petal soft around his intrusive tongue, hugging it.
He delved deeper, fearing that he might be going too far, but desperate for more, more. She responded. Her hands clutched at the waistband of his jeans, then her arms slid around his waist. Her body curved invitingly against his. He tilted his hips forward, until her thighs parted slightly and cuddled his hardness between them. Reacting strictly on impulse, he began lightly slamming into that marvelous softness with rhythmic movements.
Finally it penetrated his passion-fogged mind that her frantic movements weren’t engendered by a desire to get closer, but to escape. He released her so suddenly they both swayed. For a moment they only stared at each other, lips moist and swollen from the power of the kiss, chests heaving, breaths rasping.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her. She gave him no chance. Spinning on her heel, she fled the room. He reached for her but clutched nothing but air.
“Kirsten!”
He chased after her, but knew it was hopeless. Even if he caught her, what would he say? That he was sorry? He wasn’t. He would kiss her again, and just as passionately, if given the chance.
So, cursing himself, his impulsiveness, and the situation, he watched her retreat into the safety of the bedroom she had shared with her husband until the day he died in an airplane crash.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SANDRA BROWN began her writing career in 1980. After selling her first book, she wrote a succession of romance novels under several pseudonyms, most of which remain in print. She has become one of the country’s most popular novelists, earning the notice of Hollywood and of critics. More than fifty of her books have appeared on the New York Times best-seller list. There are seventy million copies of her books in print, and her work has been translated into thirty languages. Prior to writing, she worked in commercial television as an on-air personality for PM Magazine and local news in Dallas. She and her husband now divide their time between homes in Texas and South Carolina.
BANTAM BOOKS BY SANDRA BROWN
Sunny Chandler’s Return
The Rana Look
Thursday’s Child
Riley in the Morning
In a Class by Itself
Send No Flowers
Tidings of Great Joy
Hawk O’Toole’s Hostage
Breakfast in Bed
Heaven’s Price
Adam’s Fall
Fanta C
A Whole New Light
22 Indigo Place
Texas! Sage
Texas! Chase
Texas! Lucky
Temperatures Rising
Long Time Coming
SUNNY CHANDLER’S RETURN
A Bantam Book
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1987 by Sandra Brown
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2003052324
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Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com
eISBN: 978-0-307-41834-0
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