He dropped his wet clothing in the middle of the floor and climbed compliantly into the bed. “Exhausted,” he murmured.
“Of course you are,” she said soothingly. She was very near, stretching over him to pull up the sheet.
It was time for him to make his move. The perfect time. The raging of his blood, the pulsing of his heart, told him so. He was at the mercy of his yearning, the ache he felt, the unconquerable beat of desire flaring and swelling in his loins, in the tempest to hold her close, crush her near, bring the taste and feel and scent of memory forcefully into the present. It was in his head, in his heart, in his body, like the driving rush of the water, like a beckoning melody on the wind.
He couldn’t let her go.
He slipped his arms around her, capturing her when she would have risen. “A good-night kiss, Colleen, for old times’ sake…”
Did she know exactly what she was doing at that moment? Colleen would wonder about it later. Or was she still living a pretense? Had it ever been pretense?
She should never have kissed him, but it seemed so innocent. And he seemed so…disarmed. But she was a fool all the while because she hungered for more of him each time she touched him, heard his voice, felt the heat of his body near her own. It seemed like an eternity since she’d held him, an eternity since she’d known the dizzying, blinding joy of loving him. He’d been gone so long…and there had been no one like him, no one she wanted to touch, to know….
“A little kiss…”
“A little kiss,” she told him, and in that moment her fate was sealed. His mouth touched hers with tender warmth and then with a searing hunger. He tasted delicious. She reveled in the firm pressure of his mouth against hers, the heated velvet of his tongue moistening her lips, playing so provocatively against her teeth. She felt the wonder of his arms, heard the beat of her own heart. He touches me and I am electrified, she thought.
His weight shifted suddenly, and his fingers danced a shivery trail over her arm. They stroked her naked flesh, both lulling and fascinating. They caressed her shoulder, grazing her spine….
And suddenly she was both gasping with astonishment and shuddering with a hot liquid sensation of delight as a tug of his fingers stripped her of the bikini top, and his hand wrapped her breast, cherishing its weight.
No! Oh, no! He could seduce her so easily, mind and body and soul….
“Bret!” Breathlessly she broke the kiss, planting her palms against his chest. Above her she saw the smoke-and-silver intrigue of his eyes, and she shook her head a little desperately.
“A kiss, Bret!” she choked out. “I didn’t intend…this!” she whispered softly.
“Didn’t you?” he asked her. Was there a note of mockery in his tone? She refused to hear it. She wanted to believe his eyes, the tenderness in them, and the longing….
“No,” she mouthed, but the strength ran out of her as she spoke.
“For old times’ sake,” he whispered. His fingers met hers where they pressed against his chest, and he pulled them away, his eyes holding her spellbound. Helplessly she watched her fingers curl convulsively around his. His mouth moved to hers again, searching and coercive and powerful. His body moved against hers, long and hard and strong, warm and vibrant. A naked body with naked flesh that touched hers in a thousand wonderful ways. So good, melding to her, yet beautiful all alone. She felt the sinews of his body, the fascinating, supple flow of muscle. She inhaled his male scent, so mysterious and yet so familiar, so sweet. It called to her on a level older than time….
She returned his kiss, seeking out his tongue, loving it with her own. The world seemed to spin, silver like his eyes, as the rush of a crystal-studded wind. Desire flooded her, mercurial and hot like her blood.
His lips broke from hers and pressed against her throat, against her collarbone. For a moment she stared up at the ceiling, and with a brief flash of sanity she wondered, Why? Why had she loved him so much, needed him so much…clung to him so desperately and lost him? Had she felt so alone when her parents died that she had held too tightly to the man she’d learned to love, known too great a fear that he, too, would leave her? Had that caused him to turn away, to turn his back on her?
And here she was again, loving him, touching him, wanting him, when it was so wrong….
His mouth closed around her breast, suckling at the peak, sending a sharp throb of splendor throughout her body. She gasped. Her fingers were no longer at her sides; they threaded into his hair, clasping his head as her body thrilled to his touch. His palm coursed over her belly and caressed her hip, and his fingers slipped beneath the edge of her bikini bottom, deftly undoing the buttons at the side. His knuckles brushed the flesh of her inner thigh slowly, softly stroking her skin until her limbs were quivering and afire. Then suddenly he was inside her, and she cried out and writhed as everything within her seemed to melt like lava….
His lips moved back to hers, and his tongue dueled with hers as she kneaded the muscles of his shoulders, raking her nails lightly over his back, twisting, turning beneath him.
She thought, with just a touch of the sweetest pain she had ever known, that it couldn’t really be wrong. He was the only man she had ever loved; she still loved him, would always love him. And even if this could only be for the moment, she was his wife. She wanted this. Wanted him, to have, to hold, to love…for just this night.
Thoughts whirled from her mind in the form of a tempest of desire. His hands swept along her body, caressing intimate, secret places. His tongue continued its deep, thrusting invasions, and she seemed capable of only one thought.
He touches me, and I am electrified….
He wondered if she saw that he was trembling, that his hands shook with longing when they moved over her, that his whole body shuddered when he entered her warmth and found her embrace. Again and again, with each stroke, ecstasy seized him, sweeping over his frame, easing the burning longing in his loins, creating the hunger all over again. Why was she so different? Was it love that could hurt so badly, then bring pleasure so great? As he lifted his head and moved above her in a rhythm that rose like the pitch of a wild wind, he watched her face, and he thought he knew what it was that got to him so badly. It was something in her eyes, so dazed with her desire, in the delicate beauty of her face, in her lips, dry now from the ragged depths of her erratic breathing.
Loving her, he dipped to moisten her lips with the tip of his tongue. And in the thunder of his thrust, they locked in another kiss, then rolled without breaking rhythm as he caught her hips to stroke ever more deeply into her. Tonight. He had tonight. He didn’t have the right words; he only had his love. Tonight he sought to cement himself within her memory, this man who loved her, could love her, like no other.
It was beautiful. The feeling peaked, held, then soared again, until the moment when they both knew it must crest and explode like tiny fragments of silver falling around them. Breathless, drenched and still, they lay wrapped in something intangible but unique between them.
She knew she cried his name, her voice husky and filled with all the things she could not say. He fell from her yet remained entangled with her, his thigh against hers, his hand on her breast. And the words he had whispered remained with her: “Colleen. Always so beautiful, so special, so…Colleen. Mine…my wife…for now.”
She turned against him, words suddenly bubbling on her lips. She wanted to know why. Why he had walked out on her. How he could love her so tenderly and passionately and well and walk out on her so easily.
For a story.
She felt cold suddenly. Horribly cold except where his body still touched hers. A whisper rose to her lips. “Bret?” It was a half sob, filled with heartache. It was the question of what could possibly have gone so wrong.
“Bret?”
He didn’t answer her. She frowned, pushed his hand away and rose on one elbow and stared at his handsome face, gleaming now with the sheen of their passion. His hair was tousled arrestingly, an engaging smile in p
lace at the corner of his mouth.
His eyes were closed.
“Bret!”
Colleen poked his shoulders, but he didn’t move. Then a sigh escaped him, and his head rolled to one side. “Bret!” She picked up his hand and dropped it. It fell limply to the bed.
“Bret McAllistair, damn you!” she sputtered.
Still he didn’t move. And then she began to cry. She had finally accomplished her goal. Oh, yes! she mocked herself. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted. He was out like a light.
It was just that it was too late.
Way too late for her.
CHAPTER 6
Colleen’s alarm rang at a quarter to five. For a split second she cringed at the nerve-racking sound, then she leaned over to hit the button and shut it off. Nervously she turned back to look at Bret, then sighed with relief. He was still sleeping soundly.
Very soundly and very comfortably. His legs were stretched out over the bed, and his arms were also flung wide. He was tan against the sheets, and his hair, mussed over his brow, toned down the rugged planes of his features. He looked as vulnerable as a teenager, except that teenagers didn’t have shoulders as broad as his or a thick mat of sandy curls on their chests, his muscle tone or…
“Damn you!” Colleen whispered, suddenly feeling angry. She threw the covers over him in a flurry, forgetting in that heated second that, above all, she didn’t want him to awaken. She caught her breath, realizing what she had done, then expelled it slowly. He really was out like a light. Still, there was no sense in taking chances.
She climbed out of bed and discovered that she was a little sore from the night’s passion, and that got her angry all over again. She stared venomously at his sleeping form and silently told him exactly what she thought of him while she quietly packed. With that task completed she grabbed her clothing and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door carefully behind her.
A shower helped. At least it made her feel wide-awake and less temperamental. And clothing made her feel a lot safer around Bret, even if he was dead to the world.
She was ready quickly. Dressed in a tailored blouse, nylons, heels and a fitted skirt, she crept back out and tiptoed to the bed. It was only five-thirty. With any luck he’d sleep at least until noon.
She meant just to look at him and then rush away, but she paused, her breath catching with sudden pain. He looked so appealing, sprawled out on the bed, tumbled and disheveled. When they had been married, she’d always loved it when she had awakened first, though it hadn’t happened often because he tended to wake at the slightest sound. Such occasions were all the more special because they were rare. At those times she had been able to lie beside him and watch him, savoring all the little things about him. And then, of course, when she grew restless, she could edge against him, run her fingers along his chest, do all sorts of little things until she would realize that one smoky eye was half open, and that he was just waiting for her to realize that he was awake before wrapping his arms around her. He’d be smiling….
Smiling complacently, just as he was now. Oh, his eyes weren’t open now, but he still had that half grin, that smug and amused and male triumphant grin lifting the corners of his lips.
“You son of a bitch,” she swore in a whisper. If she weren’t leaving, she’d be tempted to throw a bucket of cold water in his face. He’d played her along all night; he’d never been as soused as he had pretended. He’d seduced her without the least bit of effort, and she’d helped him all the way.
“Damn you!” She didn’t dare kick him so she kicked the bed.
And then she went very still, admitting that she’d had no desire to fight him, that she’d even been about to tell him that she loved him with all her heart, that she hadn’t wanted to file the papers but had been convinced that she had to after the way he left her.
Thank God she hadn’t been able to tell him. By the light of day it was a little easier to be strong, to remember that he had walked out on her for a story—and that he had only walked back into her life because of another story.
For a second she felt a little guilty. She did believe that he was concerned for her safety. But she could handle herself, and she intended to do just that.
She gave herself a little shake. He was going to be furious, but he deserved exactly what he was getting. It was what he had done to her. And, she reminded herself resentfully, at least he had gotten a royal goodbye. He’d barely spared a wave for her.
Thus determined, Colleen made herself turn away from him, though her heart was aching. It would have been so much easier to crawl back in beside him, hold him, fall into the fantasy again. But that was just the point, wasn’t it? she asked herself. Love was the fantasy. Her fantasy. And if she weren’t so tired, she wouldn’t be so frightened that she would burst into hurt and bitter tears.
She hurried out of the house, then stood dead still in the drive, her temper rising again. Her car wasn’t there.
“That damned drunken letch!” she swore. “He didn’t even bring my car home!”
For several seconds she stood in front of the house, swearing. Then she kicked the door and hurt her toe. With another spate of oaths she unlocked the door and hurried to the kitchen phone to call a cab. She kept her voice low, starting to grow nervous at the first hitch in her plan. As she spoke, she kept glancing toward the bedroom, but she didn’t see or hear anything, and the dispatcher promised to send a cab right out.
Colleen hung up the phone carefully, then wondered why she was so worried. It wasn’t even six o’clock. There was no reason for him to awaken. He hadn’t awakened at the alarm, and he hadn’t made a single movement while she’d stared at him, cursed him and loved him.
Even so she chewed her lower lip nervously, hoping that the cab really would come soon. She’d heard about Bret long before she’d met him. How he had an uncanny ability to sense things. To know where there might be danger. To awaken at the whisper of a breeze when something was afoot….
But not, she told herself, when he had consumed large quantities of alcohol the day before, even going beyond his chosen cutoff point to humor her and cause her scheme to backfire against her rather dramatically.
Still, she tiptoed to the bedroom door. His arm was cast over his face now as if he were protecting his eyes from daylight.
Colleen grabbed her purse and bag again and silently hurried to the front door. She didn’t want to take a chance on the taxi beeping. Out on the walk she began to pace, glancing at her watch every other second. Come on, come on, come on.
“Colleen?”
She heard him bellow just as the cab rounded the corner and slowed down in front of the house. She picked up her travel bag and dashed down the walk.
“Let me put that in the trunk—” the young cabbie began pleasantly, hopping from the driver’s seat.
“No!” Colleen almost shrieked. “I’ll, uh, just hold it. Please, hurry!”
“To where?”
She gave him the address of the magazine. He closed her door and walked around to his own. Colleen stared back at the house just in time to see the door open. Bret was there, a sheet wrapped around his hips, looking like thunder.
The cab pulled away from the curb. Colleen screwed her face into the semblance of a smile and waved. Bret started to tear down the walk, but stopped short, tripping over the sheet and almost losing it. Her smile became real as she saw him redden, apparently only just becoming aware that he was wearing nothing but a sheet in public.
Then she caught the look on his face just before the cab rounded the corner and headed toward the city. Dark and tense and furious, his temper probably compounded by a bit of a hangover.
She turned around in her seat and stared straight ahead, wishing her lower lip would quit trembling. All he wanted was the story, and this time he wasn’t going to get it. After she stopped by the office and got on the plane, she would have hours and hours in the air to sleep, to heal her pain, to force herself to quit dreaming about the night
and Bret McAllistair.
“What you got in the case, lady? Diamonds?”
Colleen’s eyes met those of the cabdriver in the rearview mirror. He looked a little green.
“What?”
“This isn’t some kind of jewel heist or something, is it?”
“Good heavens, no!” Colleen exploded.
The cabbie fell silent for a second. “You running away from something?” When she didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “If that man attacked you or—” Now the young man was beet red. “I mean, if you’re a victim of rape, you should report it.”
It was too much. Colleen burst into laughter, and then she apologized, sobering, because the cabbie seemed to be one of the rare individuals in the world who was still sincere in caring about others.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He didn’t rape me.” No, she added silently, he seduced me, damn him! “Uh, he’s my husband,” she told the cabbie. It was still true, after all. “We’re just having a bit of a business tiff, that’s all.”
“Oh.” He sounded relieved. Then he sighed. “Boy, that’s a real problem these days, huh? I mean, women want to feel like women, and men want to feel like men. And then there’s all this equality stuff. Sure hard today, isn’t it?”
“Hmmm. But…” Curious, Colleen leaned over the seat. “Don’t you believe in equality? I mean, if a woman can do a job, shouldn’t she be allowed to?”
“I suppose. I don’t know. I think I’d have a real hard time handling it if my wife was making more money than me.”
Colleen leaned back against the seat, grimacing dryly. “Well, he can’t be suffering on that score. He makes more money.”
The cabbie met her eyes in the mirror again and shrugged. “Hope it works out, lady.”
“Thanks.”
Colleen got the cabbie to wait in front of the magazine offices, while she ran in. She was the only one in the building; the eerie night-lights were still on. She shivered a little, then quickly made photocopies of both puzzle pieces and locked the originals in the bottom drawer of her desk.
Double Entendre Page 10