Forever Instinct, The

by Delinsky, Barbara

  “You’ve got a point there,’’ she murmured, closing her eyes in a gesture of nonchalance that didn’t fool John for a minute.

  “I hope we haven’t embarrassed you. Kidding you and all.”

  “No problem.”

  “Will you see him?”

  “Who?”

  “Pat.”

  Her eyes opened. “When?”

  “After this is over.”

  “Why ever would I do that?”

  “Because you look good together.”

  She gave a dry laugh and told herself to stay calm. “There’s a lot more to a relationship than looking good together.”

  “You’ve got a lot in common.”

  “Oh?” she said noncommittally.

  “Football and all.”

  “I don’t have anything to do with football.”

  “You did.”

  “Yeah. And I don’t want any part of it now.”

  “Neither does he.” John’s gaze darted across the campsite to Patrick, who was mixing Tang. “He stuck to his guns. I have to hand it to him. He said he wouldn’t talk shop and he didn’t.” He looked back at Jordanna. “Did he with you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because you didn’t want him to.”

  “Right.”

  “And you don’t find him attractive?”

  “Hey, what is this?” Jordanna asked softly. “An inquisition?” If the questions had come from one of the other men, she might have been offended. Somehow it was different with John. He was the most thoughtful of the group. She was actually curious about what he had to say.

  “Of course not. I was just wondering. It’s kinda nice, when you think of the possibilities. If you and Pat were to get together–”

  “We’re not getting together,” she interrupted. “Our lives are too different.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know.”

  “I think you’re building a wall that may not exist.”

  Jordanna spoke softly, without malice. “I think you’re overstepping your bounds.”

  “You may be right. But I like you, Jordanna. You’re a very strong, together woman. I admire the way you’ve put up with us all week. And I can understand what Craig’s been raving about. You’re intelligent. And determined. I can see why Willow Enterprises is a successful concern. I just wonder… .”

  When his voice trailed off, she slanted him a glance. “Wonder what?”

  “Wonder what outlet you give to the softer side of you.”

  “Businesswomen aren’t soft.”

  “You are. I’ve seen it. The way you look at Pat sometimes. Like just now. You saw him rubbing that shoulder. It was all you could do not to go to him.”

  “You saw that?” she asked, momentarily unaware of what she was admitting.

  “I happened to catch that look of alarm on your face. When I followed it to Pat, I understood.”

  She settled back and closed her eyes. “What you saw was compassion for another human being. I’ve never claimed to be ruthless.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think you could be ruthless if you tried. Especially not to Pat.”

  “Maybe not,” was all she said. She kept her eyes closed, worked to keep her pose as casual as possible.

  “Well,” John continued, “you were right before. I probably have overstepped my bounds. The side of Pat we’ve seen this week is only a fraction of the man. When it comes down to brass tacks, he’s probably as shallow as–”

  “Are you kidding?” Jordanna exclaimed, opening her eyes and half rising in dismay. But her dismay was never greater than when she saw that John was indeed kidding. With a sly grin and a twinkle in his eye, he moved off to give Patrick a hand.

  Bill, it seemed, had a bottle of wine in his pack. He’d kept it tenderly wrapped in his clothes for the week and smugly produced it at the start of dinner. Donald, it seemed, had a second bottle similarly squirreled. When the first was gone, he jubilantly uncorked it. Dinner was a merry event indeed.

  Merry, Jordanna thought, as in drowning out those melancholy thoughts that John had rightly accused her of harboring. Or rather, trying to drown them out. Somehow it didn’t quite work. Yes, the wine warmed and relaxed her, but never quite erased the fact that Patrick was close. It never quite erased the fact that the tent they’d be sharing that night stood apart from the others, waiting. And it never quite erased the fact that though Patrick might be using her she wanted him nonetheless.

  She put it off as long as possible. While the men talked, she sat by, eyes alert, fatigue replaced by an overall tingle. When one by one they headed for their tents, she remained. She… and Patrick.

  “Tired?” he asked quietly. The small lantern cast shadows over his face, lending a more sculpted look to already rugged features.

  “No,” she answered as softly.

  “Want to talk?” She shook her head. “Take a walk?” She shook her head again. “Play gin?”

  “Gin?” It sounded safe enough. “Okay.”

  Patrick dealt. They played three games. He won all three. Jordanna was still busy pondering the lesson to be had when he stood and took her hand. “Let’s take that walk.”

  “No, Pat–”

  “Now.” His grasp brooked no resistance.

  Loath to fight him, she acquiesced, following him quietly into the night woods until he came to a halt at the crest of a rise. Only then did he drop her hand.

  “Wise move,” she murmured, scanning the darkness. “You know I can’t run. I’d get lost.” Though the moon was out, its light was shuttered by the thick growth overhead.

  Patrick stood with his back to her and spoke without turning. “You’d find your way. You always do.”

  He was talking of her life, and she knew it. “I try.”

  “Could you try tonight?”

  Her breath caught for an instant. “Try what?”

  Slowly he turned. Though the night hid the force of his expression, his tension beamed her way clearly. “Try pretending that we aren’t who we are. That the past doesn’t exist. That I never played football and that you were never married to my darkest rival.”

  “For what purpose?” she heard herself whisper, though the beat of her heart was positively thunderous, making his answer no more than a formality.

  “For us, Jordanna. You and me. One night. Together.”

  She wanted to step back, but her feet were glued to the mossy floor. “Oh, Pat… I don’t know.…”

  “Don’t you want it?” There was neither arrogance nor smugness in his voice, but rather a pleading note that made her ache.

  “You know I do,” she breathed.

  “Then why not? For one night?”

  “Because I can’t. I can’t forget.”

  “Come on, Jordanna. There’s no one here. We’re miles away from reality.”

  But she was shaking her head. “I can’t forget!”

  “It’s not that you can’t,” he stated then, his voice harder. “You won’t. You’re afraid.”

  “Damned right, I’m afraid!” she cried, her composure slowly crumbling. “I’m afraid of everything you were, of everything I was. I don’t want that again, Patrick. I told you what it was like. I don’t think I could bear it!”

  Patrick stared at her in a state of confusion, but when he spoke his tone was even. “I’m not offering you anything you’ve had before. I thought I’d made that clear.”

  “You also made it clear that you’d be making love to me to get back at Peter.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You implied it.”

  “You inferred it, Jordanna. Let’s keep this straight. What I said was that I’d make love to you like you’ve never been made love to before–”

  “Like Peter never made love to me.”

  “That’s right. Like Peter never made love to you. You were married to him and it kills me. It kills me to think of you in his arms. It kills me to think of you in any other man’s arms but mine. I’m
human. I may not be as arrogant as Peter was, but I’ve got an ego too. And that ego tells me that when I make love to you it’s got to be the best thing you’ve ever felt. I want that. I need that. Don’t you see? Any man would!”

  “As a challenge, Pat? That was the word you used.”

  He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Of course it’s a challenge. Any time a man makes love to a woman it’s a challenge. At least it should be. If it’s not… well, what’s the use?”

  Jordanna was frightened. He had all the right answers. She wanted to believe him, but to do that would have meant dashing the control she’d held over herself for so many years. It would have meant forgetting. And she wasn’t sure she could do that.

  Sensing the standoff, Patrick gave a low groan, turned and began to stalk back through the woods.

  “Where are you going?” she cried.

  “Back to camp,” he growled without missing a step.

  He was about to round a curve and disappear from sight when Jordanna broke into a run. She had no desire to be left alone to the beavers and raccoons and moose and bears. She had to trot to keep up, his stride was so long. When they reached the campsite she watched him duck into the tent. Her pulse raced in indecision. She couldn’t stay outside forever. It was cold. The tent provided shelter, her sleeping bag warmth. Wringing her hands, she waffled. Then, with a helpless moan, she followed Pat.

  Having tossed his jacket aside, he was in the process of shucking his jeans. Silently she knelt on her sleeping bag and, head down, proceeded to do the same. When she wore nothing but her long underwear, she quickly slid into her sleeping bag.

  Eyes adjusted to the dark, she stared at the roof of the tent. Beside her, Patrick shifted repeatedly in his efforts to get comfortable. Finally, cursing softly, he sat bolt upright and raised a hand to massage his shoulder.

  This time Jordanna couldn’t look the other way. Rising, she pushed his hand aside.

  “You don’t need to–” he grumbled, only to be interrupted.

  “Shh. It’s all right,” she whispered. “Let me help.”

  His muscles were hard, bunched beneath her fingers. She kneaded them gently, persistently, but in vain.

  “Take off your shirt,” she ordered softly. “My hands keep slipping.”

  For a minute he did nothing. His head was low, jaw clenched. When at last he reached to pull the thermal shirt from its lower half, she helped him. Then his flesh was bare, warm to her touch. Palms flat, she worked at his muscles, then used her fingers in an attempt to relax them. But the more she toiled, the more tense he seemed. She slid her hands to his neck and attacked those muscles with the same gentle firmness.

  Nothing. Nothing but the exhilaration of the feel of his skin. Nothing but the enchantment of his strength. Nothing but a temptation that was driving her insane. Only when she realized that her own tension had grown to match his did she stop. And moan softly. And drop her forehead to his shoulder.

  “Oh, Pat,” she cried, tottering on the edge.

  Slowly he reached up, took her hands and drew them down over his chest. Sagging forward, she buried her face against his neck. He smelled so very male. He felt so very male. And at the moment she felt female from head to toe.

  Then he was turning, taking her in his arms, crushing her to him. And she was in his sleeping bag, flush against his strength, offering her mouth for the wild abandon of his kiss.

  There was nothing else. Just as he’d said. The past might never have been, for the ardor they shared. He kissed her with a fierceness echoed by her own seeking tongue. And he touched with a thoroughness she needed, not denying her breasts, or her hips, or her thighs, or that warmer, waiting spot between her legs.

  She was barely aware that he’d thrust her long johns down to her knees until he levered himself up to do the same. By then she was trembling, arching, needing him more than she’d ever needed another being. Her pants slid to her ankles when she raised her knees to provide him the frame he sought. Then he was inside her, hot, hard and throbbing, stopping her tiny cries at her mouth with the force of his own lips.

  Jordanna had never known such raw pleasure. Patrick’s ragged gasps were as intoxicating as the rhythmic plunge of his hips. She met him at each thrust, needing to be absorbed, feeling her essence flow toward him even as she devoured all he offered in return. And it was plenty. Amid the fury of their joining, she felt his restraint in the trembling of his limbs. And she knew that he awaited her release as a prerequisite of his own.

  When it came, it was blinding, a cataclysmic explosion of inner joy made all the greater by his final thrust, by the cry of exaltation he couldn’t contain.

  For what seemed an eternal bliss, they clung together until, at last, Patrick collapsed against her. His back was slick beneath her palms, his damp chest melded to hers. The soft sounds of their panting filled the small tent, slowing gradually, reluctantly.

  Only after a very long time did he slip from her, rolling onto his side, taking her with him.

  “I’m sorry, angel,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. She felt the quivering of his arms as he held her tightly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I wanted it to be so good. So long. I wanted to make love to every single inch of you.”

  “But you did!”

  “I wanted it to be so special.”

  “It was!” Reaching up, she took his face in her hands. “It was.” Her lips brushed his, thumbs replacing them when she drew back. For just a minute she hesitated before whispering God’s truth. “Peter never needed me quite that way.”

  Her words hung in the air until, with a moan, Patrick pressed her head to his chest and hugged her so tightly she had to gasp for breath. “Ahh, angel. I didn’t want you to think of him.”

  “But you do. And I want you to know. What just happened was very special to me, Pat. I wanted you so badly.”

  “And I wanted you. You know that, don’t you? My desire for you has nothing to do with Peter. It’s there. It has been since Monday. I’d have wanted you if you’d been married to the Aga Khan.”

  “I know,” she murmured, slipping her knee over his thigh as she felt him grow against her.

  He sucked in a breath. “I want you again.”

  Her smile lit the dark. “I know.”

  “Are you pleased?”

  “Peter never did,” she said in the softest, most vulnerable voice. “Not a second time. I always assumed he was too tired. After a while I realized that he was as self-centered in lovemaking as in everything else. His climax was the be-all and end-all. He owed me nothing further.” She traced a small circle over Patrick’s breast. “I’m telling you this for a reason, Pat. I’m not one to kiss and tell. But I… it flatters me that you want me again.” She rushed the words out, feeling vaguely self-conscious. “Especially after what we just had.”

  “Because of what we just had,” Patrick corrected thickly, kissing her brow. “Because, angel. It was so good. So right.” He paused. “Jordanna… touch me.…”

  Heat shimmered through her veins. She looked into his eyes and saw that need again. Never, she knew, would she be impervious to it. Lowering her hand between their bodies, she circled him, stroking timidly at first, then, when he strained in delight, with a courage born of her own reawakening ache.

  “So good, angel,” he murmured, eyes closed before the pleasure of her touch.

  Mindful of her own gnawing inner void, Jordanna led him to her, releasing him only as he slid into her warmth.

  “That’s it,” he whispered. With his hands low on her hips, he guided her body. “Mmm.”

  Though this time was slower, the rapture was no less intense. Having freed a foot from her long johns, she curved it behind his knee. “Yes, Pat… oh, yes.…” Each flex of his hips drove her higher.

  “You’re… uhh… you’re gonna be black and blue,” he panted. “Damned ground… ahh, angel.…”

  “More… there… oh, God, Pat, it
feels… so good.…”

  “And this?” Freeing a hand, he found her breast and rolled its turgid peak beneath his thumb.

  “Yes!”

  “But I still… can’t see you…” he managed between thrusts. “What I’d really like… is to spread you out… in the moonlight.” Jordanna’s soft whimpering gave him but a moment’s pause. “Naked on a soft white sheet… and I’d look at you… and love you.…”

  She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. Soft cries came in broken gasps from her throat. Her body was on fire, the core of the heat centered at the point of their union. Her every muscle strained for release.

  “That’s it, angel,” he rasped, his own release imminent. “That’s it… let it come… oh, yes.…” He felt her catch her breath, then expel it brokenly. Seconds later, inspired by her abandon, he did the same.

  For a long time after, neither spoke. Locked together in the single sleeping bag, their closeness made up for the end of the divine luxury they’d shared. When Patrick’s breathing deepened, Jordanna tipped her head back.

  “Pat?” she whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think…?”

  “What?”

  “Did we…?”

  “What?”

  Embarrassed, she blurted it out. “Did we make much noise?”

  The frown he showered on her was tinged with amusement. “Noise?” Though his voice was low, he made no attempt to whisper as she had. “As in grunts and groans and sighs–”

  “Shh! You know what I mean. Do you think… any of the men might have heard?”

  He laughed softly. “I doubt it. Listen.”

  Sure enough, when she trained her ears she caught the sound of a distant buzz saw. Then, puzzled, she listened more carefully. “I don’t believe it. Two of them snoring tonight?”

  “Sounds that way. Even if the other two are awake, they’d never be able to hear a thing over that racket. Not that I care, mind you. It wouldn’t bother me if those guys knew.”

  “It wouldn’t bother you,” she scolded. “You’re a man. I can just see you strutting around with your chest puffed out–”

  He squeezed her tight to cut her off. “Hey, I didn’t say that. I’m not the peacock you’d like to think.”