There was an underlying note of annoyance in his voice. Instantly Jordanna resented its cool presence in what was an otherwise warm afterglow of passion.
“I know,” she whispered, stroking his chest, unruffling his feathers. “I guess I’m just wary. Must be my early training. I’m sorry.”
Rolling to his back, Patrick took her hand in his and pressed it to his heart. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry you had to be trained that way. But we’re not all like that. You’ve got to believe me.”
She did, and she told him so. When he seemed to relax, she snuggled closer, twining her legs with his.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Mmm. I’ve got the better part of the deal. You make a good mattress.”
“My butt’s killing me.”
“How about your shoulder?”
“It’s better. I guess I forgot about it.” He shifted until he was more comfortable all over, then kissed her brow. “Good night, angel.”
“Night, Pat.”
Closing her eyes, Jordanna drifted off to sleep with an ease that would have astounded her. She should have been thinking of what she’d just done. She should have been pondering the ramifications. She should have been wondering what tomorrow would bring. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t. The moment was too special to be marred in any way. Tomorrow would come soon enough. It always did.
BRIGHT SUNSHINE and invigoratingly cool air – that was Friday’s climatic offering. For some strange reason that wasn’t really at all strange to Jordanna when she stopped to think about it the weather did little to cheer her up.
Actually, she’d awoken in good spirits, drifting into consciousness on a cloud of erotic memory. Burrowing closer to Patrick had been her first mistake. When she hit empty space, she opened her eyes. That had been her second mistake.
He was gone, as always. Dressed and out of the tent before the rest of the group had stirred. What bothered her was that she wasn’t the rest of the group. She was the woman he’d made love to not once, but twice in the night now past. He might have at least kissed her before he’d left. Then again, maybe he had.
Frowning while she tugged on her clothes, she hit the outside air to find the other men digging into breakfast as though they hadn’t eaten in a year. The worst of it, though, was not how or what they ate but rather what they talked about. Going home.
It was Friday. Today they’d be going home.
Jordanna silently neared the group, then stopped. She stood listening, unable to advance, unable to retreat, until Patrick’s approach broke her paralysis.
“Freeze-dried omelet?” he offered, holding out a plate.
As the first words he’d spoken to her since his tender “Good night, angel,” they weren’t the most romantic he might have picked. But it was morning. They had an audience. And Patrick’s somber gaze was in keeping with Jordanna’s mood.
“Uh… .” She looked down, wavering.
He spoke gently. “You’ll need something. We’ve still got a full day ahead.”
Without looking up, she accepted the plate, helped herself to coffee and sank down to the ground.
“Shave,” Larry was saying as he stroked his grizzled jaw. “That’s the first thing I’m going to do.”
John shook his head. “Not me. I’m heading for the shower before I touch a thing. I must have half the dirt in New Hampshire under my collar. And damn it, Bill, don’t give me that bit about washing up more. The water around here’s been frigid.”
Bill held up a hand. “Suit yourself. Personally–” he grinned and closed his eyes to dream “–I’m dying to sink my teeth into a nice, thick, juicy, rare steak.”
“A bed,” Donald injected. “That’s what I want. A nice warm bed with a mattress that won’t bite.”
“How about you, Jordanna?” Bill asked. “What’s your pleasure, now that the end’s in sight?”
Jordanna’s insides knotted. It was all she could do not to look at Patrick. “Oh, all of the above, I guess.”
“You guess?” Donald teased. “Hey, where’s the opinionated lady who arrived here on Monday? She never would have guessed. She would have known. Or–” he sent a sly glance toward Patrick “–are you two planning to stay up here and do the route again?”
Jordanna couldn’t help but peer at Patrick then. He looked as grim as she felt. It was only with great effort that she forced what she hoped passed as a smile for the benefit of the other men. “I’d like that, but it’s a luxury I can’t afford. I’ve got a business waiting back in New York. Come Monday morning my work’s cut out for me.”
“Ah, the executive woman,” Donald returned in echo of the words he’d used on Monday. Then there had been disdain in his tone. Now there was respect. Likewise, his smile was warm.
Jordanna nodded, her own smile more natural. These men weren’t so bad, after all. Come to think of it, they’d been pretty good sports. Her gaze touched one then another of them, giving silent thanks for their indulgence. When, uncharacteristically self-conscious, she looked down, she knew that something was different in her now. Was it the soft side John had mentioned yesterday on the trail? Had she been burying it all these years?
She had much to think about as they dismantled the tents, loaded their packs and started out on the trail. It was a relaxing hike. Though the scenery lacked the spectacular quality they’d been privy to earlier in the week, it was pleasant. Emptied of food, their packs were lighter. Hardened by trial, their muscles were silent.
Following the Wild River Trail, they stopped for lunch at a peaceful spot overlooking a clear blue pool that would have been a bather’s dream had the day been warmer. Jordanna sat quietly munching on the last of her sunflower seeds, wondering where the week had gone, wishing it had been longer. Oh, yes, she craved a bath. And a bed. And a fresh, warm, buttery croissant. But there were other cravings now, ones she hadn’t wanted but ones she couldn’t deny.
Patrick said little. She would have given any number of pennies for his thoughts, but they were hidden behind a mask of self-control. As always, he was the consummate guide, directing their sights here and there, talking in that exquisitely patient, ever amiable tone of his.
At times she wanted to scream. What did you feel? What do you think? Where do we go from here? But she didn’t. She knew the answers, at least those that applied to her. She and Patrick would go their separate ways. It was understood. It had to be. Here in the wilderness they might be two creatures without restraint. Back in the city, reality awaited.
And reality drew closer with each step they took. Though the afternoon’s walk was undemanding, Jordanna felt a rising anguish. She tried to push it aside, to put the week in perspective, to shift her thoughts forward and muster enthusiasm for her return to work. Somehow that didn’t work. Just when she thought she’d mastered her senses, she’d catch sight of Patrick and her insides would twist anew.
Too soon they arrived at the campground from which they’d set out four days before. The men were jubilant, as enthusiastic about the trip as they were about taking off their backpacks a final time. There were heartfelt thanks to Patrick, handshakes all around, even hugs for Jordanna, which she returned with sincerity.
Then Donald and Bill took off in one car, Larry and John in another. And she and Patrick were alone.
Car keys in hand, she slowly approached the Jeep as he slammed its tailgate shut and turned. “Got the tents and all?” she asked.
“Yup.”
She nodded, looking out toward the woods. “Well, I guess I’d better be on my way.”
“Are you driving all the way back tonight?”
“I was hoping to.” Hands thrust in her pockets, she eyed the sky. “I’m not sure. What with all that talk about beds and baths, I might just give in and stop at a motel along the way.”
There was silence then. Billowy clouds moved in ever changing formation across the sky. Though they were the object of her scrutiny, she saw nothing of their beauty.
“Jordanna?”
>
Heart pounding, she met his gaze. “Yes?”
“I know of a nice place. It’s about an hour away. I thought I’d spend the night there.” He seemed to hesitate. “I’m sure they’ve got plenty of room. Off-season and all.…”
She nodded but didn’t speak. Her throat was suspiciously tight.
“Well… I just wanted to mention it.…” He turned toward his door, then paused, head down, shoulders tense. When he looked back, his eyes spoke of the same inner pain she’d been feeling all day. Reaching out, he cupped her jaw, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “You’d better get going. I’ll follow. I’ll feel better knowing you’ve hit the main road okay.”
Tipping her head to the side, Jordanna rubbed her cheek against his palm. “No,” she said softly. “You go. I’ll follow.”
She thought she saw a flare of light in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. She couldn’t have imagined his warmth, however. It was a living thing, searching her depths, seeking and finding her heat.
It was that heat that kept her foot on the gas, her eye on the Jeep ahead of her through the hour’s drive to the inn he had in mind.
WILDWOOD WAS A GRAND OLD INN in southern New Hampshire, set at the far end of its own private road beneath towering elms whose leaves had fallen and majestic firs whose needles had not. Wondering if she’d made the right choice, knowing she truly had no choice at all, Jordanna pulled her rented Chevy to a halt beside Patrick’s Jeep in the gravel lot.
He was there to help her out, his expression one of tense anticipation, even uncertainty, if her interpretation was correct. “Let’s bring the packs,” he suggested quietly. “They’ll wash whatever we want.” Taking her keys from her, he removed the backpack from her trunk, slung it over one shoulder, secured his own on the other and started up the flagstone path toward the inn’s broad front steps.
Jordanna would have protested his carrying both packs, but she caught herself. Divested of sleeping bags and pads, not to mention the food and other equipment that they’d been hauling around all week, the packs weren’t heavy. And he was already halfway there, climbing the steps, holding the bright white door open for her.
Trotting to catch up, she preceded him into the stately front hall, then stood aside as he approached the registration desk. He didn’t look back, didn’t ask if she wanted her own room. It would have been a foolish question. After last night, there could be no pretense between them. This elegant old inn with its high ceilings, turn-of-the-century moldings and graceful winding staircase was a reprieve. Jordanna could no more have resisted it than she could have the vulnerable look Patrick sent her when a bellboy materialized to lead them to their room. She answered it with a tremulous smile, quickly averting her gaze and concentrating on following the bellhop.
Their room was large, dominated by ceiling-high windows and a roomy four-poster bed. A heavily sheened mahogany dresser stood against one wall, a similarly finished desk against another. Before the window was a cushiony armchair upholstered in a large floral print of green, burgundy and white; nearby stood a matching lounge chair. The overall effect was of bright airiness and down-home New England charm. Jordanna knew Patrick had stayed there before. He’d chosen well the site for a tryst.
With their packs deposited on a long luggage rack and the bellhop gone, they were somewhat ill-at-ease. Jordanna’s eye skimmed the room again, coming to rest on the bathroom door. Though the late-afternoon sun poured into the room, the bellhop had switched on that light in his brief tour.
She dropped her gaze, focused on her muddy hiking shoes, took in the dirty sheen of her pants, then her jacket. Whether it was the utter cleanness of the room or the simple cumulative effect of five days with makeshift bathing, or the fact that Patrick would be seeing her, truly seeing her for the first time, she suddenly felt overwhelmingly grubby.
When she looked up, he was craning his neck against the collar of his T-shirt, using a finger to separate it from his skin.
“I think John was right,” she murmured awkwardly. “I feel like I’ve got half the state’s dirt under my clothes.”
“Me too,” he answered. With deft fingers he reached for the buttons of his wool shirt, releasing one after the other until the shirt hit the floor as the first of the must-wash pile.
With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, Jordanna began to undress in turn. “They’ll really wash all this stuff?” she asked, wondering, as she added her once bright lime-hued jacket to the pile, who in his right mind would want to touch it.
“They always have. I’ve stayed here several times before.”
Nodding, she knelt and concentrated on unlacing her shoes. “These were pretty good. I haven’t got a blister.”
Patrick’s T-shirt hit the pile, then he was bending over to remove his own dirt-encrusted boots. “Ah, but were they warm?”
“Pretty much so.”
“And dry?”
She set one aside and went to work on its mate. “Except for the day it rained.”
He chuckled but said nothing. Standing, Jordanna reached for the Velcro fastening of her pants, hesitated, then tugged it apart. The sound was deafening to her senses. For a split second she wondered if she’d caught some kind of madness that had been floating around in the woods that week. What she was doing was crazy. It was truly dumb. But she couldn’t stop her fingers when they grasped the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Nor did she hesitate when Patrick’s second boot hit the oak floor with a thud.
Eyes still downcast, she slipped the pants from her legs. They no sooner landed atop the pile when they were covered by Patrick’s jeans. Pulse racing against a wave of self-consciousness, she shimmied her long underwear down, dropped the warm cloth and, before she lost her courage, dragged the thermal shirt over her head.
It was then that her gaze met Patrick’s. He stood before her wearing nothing but his briefs. His chest was broad, lightly tanned, matted by the dark curling hair she’d only felt before. His torso was lean, tapering to his hips. Well-muscled thighs held him straight, while her own trembled mercilessly. Mouth dry, she watched as his gaze fell.
“Do you never wear a bra?” he asked in a husky whisper. His eyes focused with unhidden appreciation on her full breasts.
She raised her hands to her waist, started to wrap them around herself, sheepishly dropped them. “I… I always do. Working, I mean. But on the weekend when I’m alone… . And I thought it’d be an added restraint while I was hiking… .”
“It’s okay,” Patrick murmured, entranced as he took a step forward. His fingers found the hollow of her throat and traced the lightest of lines southward through the valley between her breasts, then up around one swelling mound. “You’re beautiful, Jordanna. Have I told you that?”
Her cheeks were pink and warm. “I think you said something of the sort at one point.”
“Well, I say it again. And this time I know what I’m talking about.” His gaze fell to the line where her panties began. He looked up once quickly, then, as though unable to help himself, looked down again.
Her pulse racing, Jordanna watched his fingertips slip beneath the thin elastic band. With unbelievable grace, he sank to his knees, drawing the silken fabric down until, with a hand on his shoulder for the support she badly needed, she stepped free.
“So beautiful,” he murmured again. Sitting back on his haunches, he stared at her. His large hands framed her hips, then slipped behind to gently caress her bottom.
Jordanna’s fingers sank into the hard flesh of his shoulders. “I want to be clean for you,” she whispered. “I want to be fresh and–”
“You couldn’t be more beautiful than you are now. God, Jordanna!” Coming up on his knees, he wrapped his arms around her back and pressed his face into her stomach. “I want you so much I don’t think I can stand it.”
“You’re not standing,” she managed in a tremulous whisper. “I’m the one who’s standing and I don’t think I can much l
onger.” Her knees trembled wildly in rhythm with every one of her nerve ends.
Patrick breathed deeply of her skin, then kissed her navel and forced himself to rise. Against the straining fabric of his briefs, his desire was obvious. “If we don’t hurry, I’m apt to take you here on the floor. But I want you soft and comfortable. We’ve had enough of the ground for a while. And those sheets are too clean and white to even imagine putting these trail-worn bodies on them.”
Taking her hand, he led her to the bathroom. There was no sign of a shower. Rather, an ancient porcelain tub stood on its four clawed feet, as beckoning as anything could have been at that moment. Anything, Jordanna mused, except the hard strength of Patrick’s body.
Patience, she told herself, though her trembling persisted. Patience.
Propping one arm on the lip of the tub, Patrick turned on the water, tested it, adjusted the taps to ensure the right temperature, then waited for the tub to fill.
Eyes glued to the rising water and hands on his hips, he was more disciplined than Jordanna, who couldn’t help but study his body in the bright light. His back was smoother than his hair-spattered chest, his muscles that much more boldly presented. There was the scar that rounded his shoulder, and a small birthmark to the left of his backbone. Helpless, she touched it, then trailed her fingers down the hollow in the center of his back.
If she’d thought him momentarily preoccupied with the bath, she’d miscalculated. Turning, he grabbed her, flattened her against him and began to tickle. “You want it on the floor? Do ya? Hmm?”
“No… don’t, Pat… I give! I give!” The words were forced out between laughs. When she tried to evade the devastation of his fingers, he set her back. The humor that had carried his voice moments before was gone.
“Do you, Jordanna?” he asked softly.
Stepping forward again, unwilling to forfeit one instant of his warmth, she threaded her fingers into his hair. “Yes,” she whispered. “For tonight, anything.…”
Forever Instinct, The Page 11