The Game of Love

by Heather Graham

  Jade brought the petals of the rose to her cheek. Jeffrey watched her, enthralled. There was something so soft and sensual, so feminine about her movements that his whole body tightened.

  He knew that she was trying a little desperately to decide what she wanted. And he knew that she wanted him. It wasn’t an egotistical thought. They were simply right for each other in a very special way. But she didn’t quite have the nerve to admit it. She wanted the wine and the night and the stars to be her courage, and the ache within him was so strong that in certain moments he didn’t really care how she came to him…as long as she did.

  But at other moments he knew that wouldn’t be enough. He wanted everything. He wanted her emerald eyes to meet his without the haze of wine, with a look of honest longing that matched his own. Another time it wouldn’t matter at all. But not the first time. He wanted her as he had envisioned her once, standing before the tower window in the Grange, shedding her clothing, naked and honest in the sunlight. He wanted their ultimate joining to be perfect. Falling in love was more than the urgency of desire. This relationship was worth the wait, even if it did mean one damned miserable night.

  She was still playing idly with the flower. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, golden against the white of her dress. She was beautiful in a way Diana could never even imagine.

  “Your wife left you?” she asked him dubiously.

  “Mmm.” Her breasts were driving him crazy as they rose and fell slightly with every breath. Full and firm, they were just visible where the neckline of her dress bared her flesh. Her throat was wonderful, slim and long, its tiny pulse beats hinting at her vitality. He was never going to make it through this night. He didn’t think he could wait until they got out of the restaurant to grab her and rip away her clothing….

  “Maybe she couldn’t take the pressure. You know—ball players. Traveling, trips—women. Groupies. Maybe you’ll get back together.”

  “What?” Jeffrey frowned and gave himself a shake. All he could think about was her naked flesh, and she was busy getting him remarried to Diana.

  “Your wife. Maybe you’ll get back together.”

  “Never,” he said harshly. The waiter was nearby. Jeff signaled for the check.

  “Are you friendly?”

  “Do I talk to her, do I see her? Yes. And as long as we’re not married, I can be perfectly civil.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Wherever she feels like living. At the moment, Chicago. She moves like lightning.”

  “Ryan hopes—”

  “We will never remarry.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “Not bitter. Just adamant.”

  Adamant. He meant it. At least he thought he meant it. What was the truth? Jade wondered.

  Jade tried to laugh casually. “Oh, is anyone ever sure? Maybe she’ll waltz by one day and look so beautiful that—”

  “Diana has always been very beautiful,” he replied coolly. “It really doesn’t have a damned thing to do with love or marriage.”

  Jade hesitated just a second, then shrugged. She wanted the truth and she was willing to take a gamble to find out where she stood.

  She lifted her Irish coffee to him in a little salute. “I understand via the boys’ grapevine that you and Diana have gotten back together any number of times.”

  He didn’t blink. He continued to stare at her the same way he had been doing, except that now his eyes appeared almost black, his jaw had tightened, and his knuckles whitened as he clenched the handle of his cup.

  “Just what are you asking?”

  If she had any sense, she’d retreat. There was something so menacing about his quiet tone…she was almost frightened of him. But her head was spinning, and she had to have answers, even if she didn’t like them.

  She stared down into the whipped cream melting in her cup when she spoke. No amount of wine could have brought her to meet his eyes at that moment.

  “Have you slept with her since your divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  Well, she had insisted, and she had gotten an answer she didn’t want. It hurt, and it was more humiliating than she had expected. She felt suddenly as if she wanted to get away. She reached for her purse, not really knowing what she intended to do.

  He caught her wrist before she could stand. His grip was so tight that she couldn’t budge his fingers any more than she could break a chain of steel. She stared at him, ready to make a trembling protest. But she never said the words. He just kept talking as if he weren’t forcing her to sit still, as if he were exerting no effort.

  “I’ve slept with her a couple of times since then. The last occasion was a long time ago. I wasn’t dating anyone else at the time. What else did you want to know, Jade? Dates and places? I’m sure you’ve got my life down fairly pat. Let’s get on to yours. There hasn’t been a hell of a lot in it, has there? What did your husband do—cheat? Is that why you’ve tried and convicted me of the same crime? Well, I’m sorry, you’re wrong.”

  She lifted her chin to him. “I’m wrong to judge you? Maybe—and maybe not. Danny cheated, but he always came back, even at the end, when we were thinking about a divorce. Maybe you’ll always go back. Maybe Diana will always want you to come back. And maybe you won’t be able to resist.”

  “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Are you saying that because you couldn’t resist? Because you always went back to Danny?”

  She whitened but took another sip of her wine and said levelly, “Maybe. And maybe it’s because I’ve seen a few too many things in my lifetime.”

  “Do enlighten me.”

  “All right. A friend of Toby’s was dating this lovely girl. The guy was head over heels in love with her. He couldn’t take a vacation; she could. He made arrangements for her to spend a week at one of the resorts and while she was there, she ran into her ex-husband. She remarried him a month later.”

  Jeff shrugged. “Things like that do happen. They still aren’t the norm.”

  “I don’t know,” she replied primly. “It’s just hard as hell to trust men with ex-wives.”

  “All right,” Jeff said blandly. “I’m untrustworthy. That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it?”

  “No—”

  “Yes, it is, Mrs. McLane. You’re desperately searching for a reason not to get involved with me, but it isn’t going to work. And your other little scheme isn’t going to work, either.”

  She didn’t know if she was furious, mortified, hurt—or ready to kill. She could feel his fingers as if they were steel twined around her, and she wanted to run away from him, from her own feelings. She was falling in love with him, and she knew so little about his past, his passions. She was so afraid of being hurt.

  “What scheme?” she asked.

  His fingers tightened their grip on her. “Your attempt to delicately sip your way into oblivion. ‘Lay me down and do what you will.’ This hiding and denial. You want to wake up in the morning and say, ‘That wasn’t so bad; I don’t really remember a thing, but I did it, I went to bed with a man besides my husband.’”

  She gasped and went dead still. If her arm had been free she would have hit him.

  “You egotistical maniac,” she breathed. “You—”

  “You’ve been trying to seduce me all evening in your backward little way, Mrs. McLane. You—”

  “Backward! Seduce you! Let go of me! I’m—”

  “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to calm down, and then I’m going to take you home.”

  She felt as if she was choking. She was furious, but her voice came out in an annoying whisper. “I’ll call a cab.”

  He tossed money on the table with his free hand and rose smoothly, dragging her right along with him.

  “I’ll scream!” she threatened.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Of course she didn’t. There were too many other people there. The place was just too nice, too sophisticated, too damned French. She would have been embarra
ssed to cause a scene.

  Her head was reeling. She wanted to strike out at Jeff so badly. Yet at the same time she wanted to touch him, to feel his hair beneath her fingers, to touch the fingers that held her so securely.

  He released her at the car.

  “I can take a cab,” she repeated.

  “Get in.”

  It was not a question; it was a command that was accompanied by a none too gentle shove.

  He drove home in silence. She sat as stiff as a poker beside him. It wasn’t a long drive from the Gables to the Grove, just a short distance down Douglas to Main, over to Park and then into her drive.

  Jade meant to jump right out of the car. She planned to thank him for dinner and slam her way into the house.

  But it didn’t happen that way. He was out of the car before she was, at her side before she could reach the door.

  “Go home!” she shouted at him.

  “I’m going—as soon as you’re in the house.”

  “I know how to open a door, dammit! Just—”

  “Open it, then, and get in.”

  She managed to unlock the door and step inside. But she wasn’t able to slam the door. He caught it with his hand. He was smiling grimly, and she felt a shiver of confusion go through her. She could have sworn he was looking at her with desire. From his expression she would have thought that he was mentally undressing her. Despite his anger, there was a certain tenderness in his eyes.

  “I’ll be here at eleven in the morning.”

  “Don’t bother—”

  “I’ll be here. Be ready.”

  “Don’t—” But her voice was already weak.

  “Eleven, Jade. Close and bolt the door. I won’t leave until I hear the lock.”

  She did slam the door then. She muttered that he was a macho jerk and slid the bolt home with as much force as she could.

  Then she heard his footsteps receding down the walk, and she slammed a fist furiously against the door. The only thing that accomplished was to give her a stinging pain in her hand.

  Anger carried her into her bedroom. It was with her when she scrubbed her face and teeth with a vengeance, with her still until she crawled into bed. Then she became morose and started to cry. She muttered out loud that he should be strangled.

  Then she beat up her pillow…because she knew that she would be ready to go with him at eleven.

  * * *

  Jeff didn’t really know what to expect when he parked the Lincoln in her driveway the next morning. He was afraid, and he didn’t like the feeling of being afraid. His hands were damp on the steering wheel. Long before he reached her door his heart was pounding and he felt the nagging urge for a cigarette. It was so much easier not to care.

  He rang the bell and shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe he had been wrong last night. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut and given in to his desires.

  No. He was too old for games, too involved with this woman for anything less than an emotional as well as a physical commitment. If she came to him with no subterfuge, he would be sure that she was ready to make that commitment.

  Right now, he wasn’t sure about anything. Maybe she wasn’t going to open the door. Dammit; he had been a fool. He should have let her drink another half a bottle of wine, curl into his arms and awake beside him. At least he would have been inside the house, instead of standing on her doorstep, aching to hold her. Maybe he was a macho bastard, he reflected dryly, but he wanted to make her a part of him, make her see that their relationship could work.

  Open the door, Jade. Come with me. If you don’t, I may very well break the door down and prove just what an animal I am by ripping your clothing from you piece by piece. All last night I kept seeing you…your eyes, your hair, your golden skin….

  She opened the door. She was wearing a cool halter dress, and her hair flowed freely about her naked shoulders. Her legs were bare of stockings and beautifully tanned; her feet were encased in high-heeled sandals. She seemed cool and remote, but at least she had answered the door.

  “Good morning,” he said, stepping inside before she could decide not to let him in.

  “Good morning,” she returned coolly. “Do you want coffee?”

  “If you’ve got it made.”

  “It’s in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

  She disappeared down the hall toward her room. He was tempted to follow her.

  He went into the kitchen, poured himself coffee and lit a cigarette. She joined him a second later with a shoulder bag in her hand.

  “How are the boys doing?”

  “Fine. They’ve just started waking up—they watched Boris Karloff movies until 3:00 a.m.”

  She nodded vaguely. “I guess they’re having a good time.”

  “Very.”

  “Toby and Lynn don’t need any help?”

  “Lynn is retiring for lunch. I told you. Toby and Randy are taking the kids to the ice cream parlor.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Am I all right?”

  “No hangover?”

  “I didn’t drink that much,” she said, her tone icy.

  “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a headache.”

  “How considerate,” she retorted sarcastically.

  “Let’s go,” Jeff said abruptly.

  His strides took him quickly out of the house; he was afraid to see if she was following him.

  But she did follow him. She slid silently into the Lincoln when he opened the door for her. As they drove, she stared straight ahead, primly adjusting the hem of her dress over her knees.

  Well, this is just great, Martin, he scoffed at himself. You take a cold shower like a monk when she’s ready to float into space with you, and try to seduce her when she’d like to slit your throat. What a way with women.

  At the Grange, it was he who hopped out to open the gate. He motioned to her to drive the car through. She frowned, then uneasily slipped over to the driver’s seat. She continued to frown as she drove the car to him.

  “What…?”

  “Go ahead. I want to walk.”

  “Are you sure you want me driving your car?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t think you can hit anything in a driveway.”

  The electric window closed in his face. She made a point of gunning the motor.

  Jeff worked at getting control of himself as he walked past the wild and beautiful foliage that lined the drive. Go slowly, he warned himself.

  She was waiting for him at the door. He grinned again and opened it. He led the way straight into the kitchen.

  Jade hovered behind at the entrance.

  “Hey! Come in here!” he called to her.

  Humph! Jade thought. He was acting as if nothing had happened. Nonetheless, she found herself following him into the kitchen.

  He was standing in front of the open refrigerator. He turned around with a bottle of something and two frosted glasses.

  “What’s this? I got the distinct impression last night that you felt I had drunk too much,” Jade said.

  He glanced at her, arching a brow. “This is Dom Perignon—to christen the house. And I didn’t say that. I doubt that you ever really get drunk. I said that you were looking for oblivion.” He poured the champagne and handed her a glass, then lifted his own in a toast. “To the Grange.”

  She lifted her glass to meet his. “To the Grange,” she mumbled.

  He sipped his champagne. “You know,” he said softly, “Lynn thinks we’re having an affair.”

  Jade choked on her champagne. “Does she?” she managed in a strangled gasp. “And does she think that you’re after whatever you can get?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks that you’re after my money,” he answered pleasantly. “Are you?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she snapped, turning away. “What did you want me to look at?”

  “Come this way, madame, and I’ll show you
.”

  He led the way to the hall and went upstairs. Jade followed him nervously. It was starting again. The heat…the shivers…the anticipation. The trembling, the wondering…

  She clenched her fists. He was playing with her. He didn’t want her at all; if he did, he wouldn’t have left her at her door last night.

  He was in the master bedroom, and she joined him there. He pointed to the tower window. “I was thinking about putting in a window seat. A period type thing. What do you think?”

  Jade walked to the window. It was open; a soft, cool breeze was fluttering the drapes.

  “Do you really care?” she asked him.

  “Yes.”

  She stared out the window. “I think it would be lovely. Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I want to know if you want to sleep with me, Jade. Now. Here. Today.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Well?”

  Cool air wafted over Jade’s face, and the white draperies shivered in the breeze. She tried to continue staring out the window, but she couldn’t. It was as if he had the physical power to force her eyes to his.

  He was standing across the bed from her, his hands on his hips. Her heart started to thud painfully against her chest. She made a little movement, gave an almost inaudible gasp. Then she forced herself to shrug and smile at him mockingly.

  “That…was…a little blunt, wasn’t it? I mean, most people start out with a kiss. Or a dance, maybe.” Her lips were so dry her palms so clammy. “We’ve, uh, never even held hands.”

  He moved around the edge of the bed. His hair seemed very dark that morning. His eyes were bluer than indigo. The plaid shirt he wore was open at the neck.

  In just seconds he might be taking it off, sliding out of the jeans that hugged his form….

  “Did you want that?” he asked her softly his eyes challenging hers. “The games, the play, and the flowery phrases? A slow seduction step by step?”

  “I—”

  Totally at a loss for words, she stared down at her hands. Then she stared at him ready with a challenge of her own.

  “I don’t even know if you’re serious—”

  “I’m very serious.”

  She shook her head, confused. “Last night…dinner. I—” She paused, then her temper flared, brought to the boiling point by the terrible fear that he didn’t really want her, that he had somehow found her lacking.