A MAN TO TRUST

by Justine Davis

  He didn't know what to say. Didn't even know what he was feeling, why he'd felt that sudden alarm. It had been a reaction so deep and instinctive, he didn't know its source.

  He wasn't sure he had the breath to talk, anyway; he hadn't realized until he pulled back just how long it had been since he'd drawn in any air. He took a long, almost gulping inhalation. He turned back to sit normally in the driver's seat, shifting a bit uncomfortably in his effort to hide his body's obvious response to that hot, furious kiss; somehow he thought that if she guessed just how aroused he was, she would run from that, too. And again, he wasn't sure he wouldn't prefer it that way.

  He let his head loll back against the headrest. He'd never been so torn between wanting something and wanting to retreat from it at the same time. He understood the wanting, but he didn't understand the rest. He'd withstood the nagging and matchmaking of his friends; he'd always figured that when the time came, when he was ready and a woman he liked came along, things would happen … naturally.

  And now here she was. And he was the one running scared. He'd been thinking about her not trusting him, but he'd been the one to bolt. And he didn't understand why.

  He could hear Kelsey's quickened breathing, could sense her tension, as if it were tangible. Correction, he amended silently. We're both running scared.

  At least he knew what Kelsey's reservations were. He just wished he understood his own. And he wished he knew what the hell to do now.

  Sometimes, he thought grimly, discretion was the wisest course. Sometimes retreat was. And once in while, both were.

  When he was relatively sure his voice wouldn't sound as thick as Ryan's coffee, when he was fairly confident his words wouldn't descend into mindless blather, he at last spoke.

  "Is there any place Melissa might go that we haven't checked yet?"

  Not bad, he thought. Only a bit wobbly. You would never guess he was dying, aching beyond bearing, confused beyond comprehension.

  "Not … not that I can think of."

  The catch in her words stabbed at him, and the husky tone of her voice sent a ripple down his spine, as surely as if she'd trailed her fingers along that path. The thought made his body clench, and flesh that had begun to ebb surged to hot life again.

  Damn, he cursed to himself, clenching his jaw and every other muscle he could. He should have known, he thought. His libido hadn't just nicely left him alone for so long, it had been saving up. And it wasn't listening to any reservations he had, understood or otherwise.

  "It's almost dark, anyway," he said after an embarrassingly long time of trying to get himself back in control.

  "I know."

  "I don't see any point in searching until morning."

  "No."

  She sounded so disheartened that he wanted to hug her, console her, lighten the load she'd taken upon herself, a load few others would even consider carrying.

  He also knew he didn't dare. Not now, not when it was taking every ounce of willpower he had to argue his aching body into submission. He didn't dare even look at her, not yet.

  "I think I should take you home," he said.

  She sighed. He looked at her then, and although she was staring straight ahead, he could still see that she looked nearly as weary as that sigh had sounded.

  "I want to go home," she said.

  "All right."

  "I meant my home. The inn."

  "That's what I meant."

  Her head snapped around.

  He shrugged. "We're closer to there than we are to my place. I figured you have things to attend to, and that you might want to … sleep in your own bed for a change."

  The look of gratitude she gave him was tinged with an uneasiness it took him a moment to figure out.

  "Much as I'd like to suggest otherwise, I mean alone, Kelsey. I know you're not … ready for anything more." And I'm not sure I am, either, he added silently.

  Color flooded her cheeks, visible even in the fading light of dusk. After a moment of carefully not looking at him, she asked "What about you? You're tired, too."

  "I figure you'll either offer me a room or I'll just drive home."

  "And you … don't care which?"

  "I care," he said wryly. "I'm just not sure which way." He started the truck and put it in gear before she could come up with an answer to that absurd statement.

  * * *

  "Definitely an improvement on the Chez Gregerson menu," he said as he finished the last bite of a slab of the lasagna that he'd told her had his mouth watering the minute she took it out of the oven.

  "Thank Dolores," Kelsey said.

  "Didn't I?" Cruz asked innocently.

  Oh, he had, all right, Kelsey thought. He'd swept the woman into an engulfing hug and planted a noisy kiss on each of her cheeks. Dolores had laughed, blushing prettily, rattled something off in Spanish that made him laugh in turn, told him his room was ready, then taken her leave.

  But not before she had watched them both speculatively long enough to make Kelsey edgy. Long enough to make Kelsey wonder if the memory of that kiss was somehow emblazoned on her forehead.

  The way the memory of the way he had retreated was emblazoned on her heart.

  She'd been dizzy, whirling in a maelstrom of heat and light she'd never felt before, but still she had felt it, that moment when be pulled away from her with a distinct jolt. As if he had suddenly realized what he was doing and didn't like it.

  Or who he was kissing.

  He picked up his glass of wine. "It's nice of her to look out for things here for you."

  Obviously, Kelsey thought ruefully, she was the only one caught up in memories of that kiss.

  "Yes. She's always been good about helping out," she said, trying for a tone as casual as his had been.

  Cruz took a long sip, then looked at her over the rim of his glass. "How long have you known her?"

  "A couple of years. I met her … through her son."

  Nothing changed in his expression, but she thought he seemed suddenly intent. "Her son?"

  "John. He … helped out around here for a while."

  Something flashed in his eyes, and Kelsey's pulse took a leap. For an instant, she wondered if he knew, if somehow he had guessed. But he said nothing, only took another sip of wine.

  She kept silent, as well, not having the slightest idea what to say. What had happened to the woman who, albeit nervously, had started so many conversations with him before? What had happened to the woman who found herself enjoying their long talks and was surprised when she realized how much time had passed? Had she somehow vanished, wiped out of existence by one simple kiss?

  She nearly laughed at her own thought. One simple kiss? Whatever else that had been, it hadn't been simple. At least not for her. She wanted to ask him why he'd done it, but she was seized with the fear that he would just look at her blankly and say, "What?"

  He finished his wine and set down the glass, then just looked at her for a moment. She wasn't looking back, but she could feel his gaze just the same. Finally he stood up.

  "Let's clean this up and go for a walk."

  She hesitated, but it seemed harmless enough. In a few minutes, they had loaded the dishes into the big heavy-duty dishwasher she'd installed with her first profits and were headed outside.

  It was a beautiful summer night, the kind that made her thankful to be living here, warm enough for just the shorts and T-shirt she'd put on after her shower. She wasn't surprised when he headed up the hill toward the pond; he'd always had a liking for the place, second only to the big tree. And on a night like tonight, clear and warm, it was her favorite spot, as well.

  But as she sat down, her back against the boulder that still held some of the sun's warmth, as she sat there looking at Cruz, who was sitting beside her staring at the mirror-like surface of the pond, his dark hair gleaming in the light from the half-moon that was nicely centered in the big oval of water, she wondered if this was really such a wise idea. She'd never been one for torturing h
erself, and this certainly seemed to be that.

  A breeze kicked up, rippling the surface of the pond until the moon's reflection looked corrugated, and ruffling Cruz's hair, pushing it down over his forehead. Her fingers curled with the need to reach out and push it back, not because she didn't like it where it was, because she did, but because she wanted more than anything to feel the soft thickness of it again. She remembered how it had felt, warm and silken.

  There had been something incredibly and unexpectedly intimate about threading her fingers through his hair. She'd never felt such feelings before, had never thought of such an act as intimate before, but somehow, with Cruz, it had been.

  Or maybe it was just that with Cruz, her erotic imagination seemed to be working overtime, she thought wryly.

  Not that there had been anything she could imagine about that kiss that would make it any hotter than it had really been.

  Slowly, as if aware of her gaze, he turned. Her instinct was to avert her eyes, but a new sense of recklessness made her keep looking at him. He was such an anachronism, the manner and solid goodness of the proverbial boy next door, wrapped in a package that played havoc with female senses. In the moonlight, she saw his eyes widen, saw his lips part as if for breath. Those lips that had been so firm, so warm, so incredibly coaxing, making her feel things she'd never felt, making her want to feel more.

  She wondered if what she was thinking was showing in her face, because he swallowed visibly.

  "Kelsey," he whispered, and the husky note in his voice as he said her name exactly matched the wild yearning that had sprung to life within her.

  "Yes," she said. It was the only thing she could say.

  And then she was in his arms, wondering that she'd felt the night warm enough; it felt no less than chilly now, compared to his heat. His mouth found hers quickly, and his kiss was urgent, as if he, too, had been haunted by memories of this afternoon.

  She had thought knowing what to expect would lessen the impact, but she knew in the first instant his tongue traced her lips that it was in fact the opposite; as if trained now, her senses came to life even more swiftly. With a soft moan, she opened to him, knowing the fire that would leap through her, welcoming it, wanting the taste of him. When he probed forward, she met his tongue with her own, dancing, tasting. She trembled, feeling like the breeze-rippled pond, helpless to do anything but move before the onslaught.

  And move she did, in a way she was barely conscious of, pressing herself against him, grasping at his shoulders with fingers rigid with the effort to get closer. He shifted then, pulling her down to the soft grass beside the pond, still green here, by the water's edge. She didn't fight him, never even thought of resisting; how could she think, when every nerve in her body seemed to be crying out, "At last?"

  They were such simple things, really, why had she never realized how wonderful they could be? The heat of two bodies in the night air, the softness of the grass beneath them, the feel of being held so tightly, the thrilling sensation of being pressed against a strong yet gentle man from head to toe… They were swamping her with sensations, so many at once that she could not sort them out, nor did she even want to try. They all added up to just one thing, anyway. Cruz.

  It was he who made the difference, he who was making this happen. She knew that as surely as she knew no summer night had ever smelled this sweet, no summer grass had ever been so soft. Because no man had ever made her feel like this.

  He shifted his weight then, leaning farther over her. He never broke the kiss, in fact, he deepened it. Then, to her dismay, he drew back, leaving her longing for more. He flicked his tongue over her lips, then drew back again. And then he did it again.

  Belatedly she recognized the invitation. She hesitated, but her sense of loss overpowered her shyness, and tentatively she tasted his lips in turn. She felt him tense, as if waiting. She went further, tracing the even line of his teeth. Teasingly, he let the tip of his tongue brush lightly over hers, then drew back. She followed, without thought, aware only that the hot, male taste of him was intoxicating and she wanted more.

  It went on and on, that hot, probing kiss, so consuming that Kelsey was barely aware of his hands sliding down her body and then back up with painful slowness, as if he were tracing her, as if he wanted to be able to recognize her in the dark.

  That thought sent a little shock through her, but it was instantly vanquished by the heat that swelled from beneath his hand as he gently cupped her breast. Helplessly, she arched toward him, quivering at the feel of her own soft flesh pressing harder into his palm. She heard him make a low sound, not quite a groan.

  His hand moved, his fingers shifting, brushing over her already taut nipple. A sudden, electric jolt shot through her, arcing from the instantly hardened peak he had caressed to some deep, hidden place inside her. She nearly cried out, and when he did it again, she did. She cried out his name in a voice she barely recognized as her own, it was so full of hunger and need.

  Through the soft knit of her shirt he caught the rigid peak between his fingers, rolling it gently. Fire burst through her, careening downward inside her until it seemed to gather in that low, deep place. Her body seemed out of her control, shivering beneath his touch.

  Breaking that burning kiss at last, he lowered his mouth to her throat, his lips nibbling gently. He muttered something that sounded like her name, and she felt the vibration of it against skin she had never before realized was so sensitive.

  Vaguely she felt an odd tugging, but only when she felt the searing touch of his hand on the bare skin of her stomach did she realize he'd pulled her shirt loose to free her for a more direct caress. She thought maybe she should protest, maybe even stop him, but as he moved with delicate care upward, the thought of that strong, hot male hand on her breast made her gasp with anticipation instead.

  The feel of his fingers stroking that soft curve made her choke off her gasp. When he slipped inside the lacy cup of her bra to let her nestle gently against his palm, she couldn't remember how to take in the air she suddenly needed so desperately. And when he pushed her shirt up to repeat the earlier caress of a nipple that was now achingly eager for it, when she felt the gentle tugging of his fingers directly on that tight, tingling flesh, she let out what little breath she had in a near-strangled sob.

  He shifted again, over her this time, and when he settled down against her, she became vividly aware of two things: that she very much liked the feel of his weight, and that he was utterly and completely aroused. Both thoughts barely had time to register, because Cruz gently lifted her breast free of her bra and lowered his mouth to her nipple.

  Kelsey gasped, then cried out as he caught that now incredibly sensitized flesh between his lips and flicked at it with his tongue. She went rigid, then arched again, thrusting herself up to him, silently begging him for more. He acknowledged her plea by drawing her into his mouth and suckling deeply, until she was moaning aloud and clutching his head to her, fearing he would leave her, when she needed more, so much more.

  She'd never had an experience like this. Her only two relationships that had lasted long enough to reach the point of sex—a length of time that had ended several others—had been … almost businesslike compared to this. Conservative. A discussion, a decision, a bed and lights-out. All the standard conventions.

  And none of the wildness she was feeling now, outside, on the grass, in the moonlight, a sea breeze brushing over her naked skin, and a man's—no, this man's—mouth hot and wet upon her.

  Involuntarily her hips shifted, pressing upward. She felt the swollen, hard pressure of him against her belly in the same moment she heard his breath hiss out in a rush. He moved in turn, pushing against her, his rigid flesh caught between them. She felt a shudder go through him and thrilled to it. She wasn't alone; no matter what the reason, in this moment he wanted her.

  He shifted his weight once more, and she almost cried out at the loss when he left her breast. She felt a chill beyond expectation and realized
it was the faint breeze on the wet, aching nipple he'd aroused to a tightness she'd never known. But a new heat rocketed through her when he took her hand and pulled it between them, pressing it against the swollen flesh behind the zipper of his jeans.

  The denim was soft and worn, and she could feel the whole hot length and thickness of him, could feel every contour beneath the cloth. Tentatively, for her experience did not include this, either, she traced those contours, then, when his breathing quickened audibly and he pushed himself against her palm, she caressed him more confidently.

  "Yes," he gasped out. "Don't stop, Kelsey. Please."

  The sound of his husky words gave voice to the roiling sensations inside her. She caressed him again, feeling an echoing shudder in herself when she felt him respond.

  And then his hands were moving again, pulling at her clothing, his fingers trembling in a way that made Kelsey feel an unaccustomed spurt of power; was it truly possible that she had made him feel this way?

  He fumbled with her bra for a moment, and inanely she wondered if he would figure out the fastening. Silly, he'd been married, he had to know about women's underwear.

  He'd been married.

  Sooner or later, Cruz, you're going to have to deal with it. It may be in the past, but you haven't let go of it yet.

  Kit's words, and Cruz's far-too-vehement reaction when she'd reminded him of them, echoed in her mind, clear in a way nothing had been since the moment he kissed her. And for the first time since he'd taken her in his arms here by the pond, her brain kicked in.

  "Cruz, stop."

  The catch on her bra let go in that instant, and he cupped her breasts and buried his face between them, kissing her soft curves eagerly.

  "Cruz," she repeated, more urgently this time, knowing that if she let him continue she would be lost, there was no way she could resist the kind of feelings he roused in her.

  Slowly he lifted his head to look at her. She saw him try to slow his rapid panting, try to suppress a shiver.

  "I…" She had to swallow before she could go on. "You said you knew … I wasn't ready…"