Forever Instinct, The

by Delinsky, Barbara

  “Hello?” She knew she was beaming, and she hoped she sounded less giddy than she felt. Given the threat to the business, it seemed indecent that she should feel so light-headed, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Room service,” came the deep voice she’d recognize, fuzzy intercom or no.

  “It took you long enough,” she teased.

  “I’m right on time!”

  “Four weeks late. I just hope everything’s still hot.”

  “Oh, it’s hot, all right. And getting hotter.” The voice lowered. “Damn it, Jordanna, buzz me in. One of your neighbors just walked by and gave me the strangest look.”

  Laughing, she pressed the button, waited until she was sure he’d have cleared the door before releasing it, then went into the hall to wait for the elevator to arrive.

  The doors slid open with a soft hum. Arms laden with bundles, Patrick turned sideways to see her. She reached forward and drew him out, then scowled.

  “That’s quite a load. It’s a miracle you haven’t tripped and spilled the goodies. Then where would we be?”

  “Depends on which goodies you’re worried about,” he drawled, taking a broad look around him as, led firmly by Jordanna, they entered her duplex. “Hey, this is nice!”

  Not quite forward enough to start grabbing for the bundles he carried, one of which was very obviously from a florist, Jordanna clasped her hands before her and joined his inspection. “I like it. I’ve been here for five years now. The rooms are narrow, but that seems to be a regional hazard. The fellow who lived here before me took most of the walls down, so the place looks larger. And what with upstairs and down, it’s plenty roomy.”

  “I can see.”

  What Patrick saw was a vision of impeccable style. Thick rugs carpeted the floors. Beautifully upholstered chairs and a love seat comfortably filled the living area, and an exquisite marble-topped dining table and four straight chairs drew the eye on. Sculpted pieces, each unique and of varied materials, rested upon coffee tables and a small oak buffet. Original oils hung on the walls. The overall color scheme was a blend of cream and powder blue.

  “Classy. Like you,” he said in soft appreciation, then turned to face her and raised his voice in imitation of a door-to-door salesman. “And for the classy lady, we have–” he juggled his bundles and began handing them to her one by one “–flowers… wine… ice cream… and–” he cleared his throat as he passed her the two largest packages “–a little something for later.”

  “For later?”

  “Mmm. Not to be opened now.” He shrugged out of his topcoat and tossed it onto the nearest chair, then retrieved the two large boxes from Jordanna, dropped them near his coat and went for the ice cream and wine. “These have to be stashed,” he said, heading for the kitchen with such ease that Jordanna half suspected he’d researched the layout of her apartment as well. She followed, gently cradling the flowers, pleased that he should feel at home here.

  “Pat?” Her voice held a touch of unsureness, hinting at the crisis that had brought him to her office that morning.

  Having already deposited the ice cream in the freezer, he closed the refrigerator door on the wine, turned and put a finger against her lips. “Shh.” Then he took her hand and began walking. “Put the flowers down. I want to see the rest of the place.”

  She barely had time to deposit the wrapped bunch on the table before she was swept back through the dining room and living room to the stairs. Her senses had already begun to quiver. All day she’d been excited about seeing Pat, yet the reality was so much better than the anticipation that it took every bit of her self-command to call his name again.

  “Pat? What about–”

  “The deal?” He was taking the carpeted steps two at a time. Jordanna had to trot to keep up. “It’s looking good.” He poked his head into the first room he reached. “A study. Nice. Do you do much work at home?” Already he was dragging her on.

  “Yes. I try to bring papers–”

  “Ah, angel. This is you.” He was at the second room, clearly the one he sought. Tightly holding her hand, he took in every inch of the room, from the lacquered dresser and dressing table, both of which matched the carpet perfectly, to the single modern oil on the wall, to the pale-blue-covered bed. With the gentle pull of his hand, he brought her to him. His dark brown eyes suddenly saw nothing but her. “Have I told you tonight how much I love you?”

  “You haven’t told me much of anything,” she complained, but it was in a whisper and there was the faintest smile on her face to say that those three little words were the only ones she really needed to hear at the moment.

  “I love you,” he murmured, taking her face in his hands. His lips brushed her eyes, closing them, then her nose and her cheeks before settling at last on her mouth in a kiss filled with need and purpose. “Mmm, do you taste good.” He raised his head only to focus on the buttons of her blouse.

  It didn’t matter to Jordanna that she’d dressed mere moments before. She’d dressed for him. Perhaps simply to be undressed by him. Without hesitation, she slipped her hands beneath his jacket.

  “You changed.” In place of the gray pin-striped suit was a navy blazer and gray-flannel slacks.

  He was down to the third button of her blouse and proceeding steadily. “I keep things at the office.” He bent his head to lick her neck as she slid the blazer from his arms. “When I want to freshen up, it’s easier than going home. And since I had to work late… .”

  She loosened his tie and worked at the knot. “No wonder you had to work late. You must have spent half the day shopping. Flowers. Wine. Ice cream. Ice cream?”

  “Rum raisin.” He untied the bow of her sash. “I get this craving sometimes.”

  “What’s in the boxes?” The knot at his neck came free. She tugged off his tie and tossed it aside, then began on his shirt buttons as he pulled her blouse from her pants.

  “That’s a surprise. I told you. For later.” Pushing the blouse from her shoulders, he had her momentarily manacled. His mouth found the soft swell of her breast, just above the lace of her bra, and moistly kneaded the burning flesh.

  “Pat!”

  At her hoarse cry, he freed her arms of their silken bonds. The truth was that while he wanted to take things slowly, that was a pipe dream. He needed to feel her hands on him. Needed that desperately. He tugged his shirttails free while she worked feverishly at the last of his buttons. She smoothed the fabric to the side just as he unhooked her bra. Then they were kissing again, hands touching each other, and he was crushing her bare breasts against his chest, feeding on her excitement as she fed on his.

  Suddenly time was of the essence. The only thing that seemed to matter was that they be naked, together, joined. Jordanna fumbled with his belt, then thrusting it aside, pulled at his zipper. Patrick nearly tore the button from her waistband in his effort to free her from her velvet pants. For several minutes, then, confusion reigned. It was a question of whose hands were supposed to be doing what where. Their pants, both pairs, hit the floor only after a bit of contorting. The scene was indeed comical. Between kisses they laughed, then renewed the farce.

  But it wasn’t a farce, because the outcome was breathtaking. There seemed no crisis more critical than the affirmation of their love on this most physical of planes. Swept into the immediacy of an overpowering need, Jordanna was aware of nothing but Patrick. Whereas moments before she’d had every intention of wheedling business news from him, now she could only think of her need to possess and be possessed by the magnificent man her frenzied hands had laid bare.

  Both naked, they fell down to the bed. Lips met, tongues dueled. Made for each other, their bodies meshed so naturally that Patrick was inside her before she could begin to catch her breath.

  There was no turning back from the fierce need that gripped them. It was as though, given the urgency of all else in their lives, they had to speak that much louder of their personal bond.

  “I love you. I love you.” Patric
k murmured the words again and again. Jordanna simply arched higher to receive him, to give everything she had in return. Their shared adoration put their joining in that much more exalted a sphere, so that when the final moment of joy seized them, it was that much stronger, that much sweeter, that much more soul-reaching than it had ever been before.

  “Angel… oh, God!” he gasped, collapsing on top of her. She could barely breathe, but just then she would have given her very life for him if he asked. “That was phenomenal!”

  Eyes closed, she wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around his back. Her blissful smile spoke of her agreement as her vocal cords could not. When she remained silent, Patrick raised his head, looked down at her, then quickly slid to her side. She followed him over until they lay nose to nose.

  “I love you,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair. His brow was damp; she stroked it with her thumb.

  “Do you? Do you really?” He’d had all day to assimilate the words, yet he couldn’t hear them enough. Somehow he sensed it would always be that way.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When did you decide?”

  “I’m not quite sure. I knew something was up when we left New Hampshire. The drive home was dismal. Then when I got back here, all I could do was picture you in this bed.” She inhaled deeply, loving the scent that was uniquely his, and eyes moist, she shook her head in amazement. “I can’t believe you’re here. You came when I needed you most. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, angel. I needed you just as badly.” It was his turn to look amazed. “It’s odd how things happen.”

  “Does it bother you still… my having been married to Peter?”

  “Not the way it did. Knowing that you need me helps. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him for trying to subjugate you the way he did. You’ve got so much to offer. A man would be totally selfish to try to curb that. Part of what I love about you is your commitment to Willow Enterprises.”

  For the first time since Patrick had arrived, Jordanna felt that now familiar knot form in her stomach. “You do think you can come up with something to save us?”

  “I’m sure I can. Two of my partners are interested, and among us we’ve got eight clients who are as enthusiastic. I’ll make more calls tomorrow. In the meantime, our lawyers are working on preliminary contracts. What I need from you now are figures.” He hesitated. “Do you think our man could take a look at your books?”

  “Of course! That is, it’s okay with me. I’ll raise it with the board tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll approve if you can guarantee us confidentiality.”

  “Done.”

  “Oh, Pat,” she breathed, draping an arm around his neck. “Do you really think it would work? With the clauses you mentioned?”

  “I don’t see why not. You’ve got a solid organization. None of us wants to change that. The investors would be getting something good. How can they complain?”

  “The price would have to be high, at least higher than Widener’s offer.”

  “I know that, but we’ll pay. It’ll come back tenfold in time.”

  “What if Widener ups its bid?”

  “We’ll counter it. Trust me, angel. It’ll work. You’ll see. It’ll work.” He paused then, sniffing the air. “Is something burning?”

  “Oh no! My casserole!” Within instants, Jordanna was out of bed and flying down the stairs, muttering frantic thoughts about scorched gruyere cheese. Wearing nothing but a pair of oven mitts, she removed the dish from the heat and set it atop the stove.

  “Did it survive?” Patrick asked from behind, staring over her shoulder at the crisp crust of what was supposed to have been a delicately browned accompaniment to the steaks, which lay on the counter, and the lettuce, now slightly wilted nearby.

  “I don’t believe this,” she wailed. “I wanted to impress you with my culinary skills.”

  “It looks… good.”

  “If you’re looking for something to gnaw on.” She let out a long breath, then couldn’t help but grin. “Well, at least you can’t say I didn’t try.”

  Patrick turned her around and clasped his hands at the small of her back. “I didn’t expect you to be a cook. As a matter of fact, I had quite a different impression.”

  Her thoughts joined his in recollection of their first dinner on the trail in New Hampshire. “I never said I didn’t cook. The guys suggested that. I mean, for myself I rarely do much of anything. But I can do it when the occasion demands.”

  “This occasion doesn’t demand it. I just wanted to be with you tonight. I couldn’t give a damn about food.”

  “That was obvious,” she mused aloud, but blushed when she realized that there was good reason her casserole had burned. She hadn’t been paying it much heed herself. When she was in Patrick’s arms, not much else seemed to matter.

  “I tell you what,” he began, setting her back and heading for the living room. “I’ll give you a hand with dinner.”

  “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

  “The sight of that steak just changed my mind.” But he wasn’t focusing on the steak. He was snapping the cords from the two large boxes he’d brought with him. Jordanna watched, growing more curious by the minute. A bright smile broke out on her face when, boxes emptied, he returned to her with one white terry robe slung over his arm and the other held open for her.

  “I don’t believe it.” She shook her head, then laughed. Turning, she slid her arms into the awaiting sleeves. “You came prepared.”

  “It’s winter. I didn’t want you catching cold.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?” When she would have tied the belt, Patrick’s hands were reaching around her to do it.

  His lips brushed her ear. “You weren’t exactly discouraging this morning. I’d never force myself on an unwilling woman.”

  “Never?” Jordanna teased, closing her hands over his and leaning back against his strength.

  “Well, not unless she wanted me to.”

  “But then she wouldn’t be unwilling.”

  “Unless that was her particular fantasy.”

  Jordanna turned in his arms then and looked gently up. “You are into fulfilling fantasies, aren’t you?”

  “I try.”

  Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him softly. “You do well at it. I think it must be your forte. A professional white knight.”

  “They didn’t call me Lance for nothing.”

  She recalled having said similar words to John, and smiled.

  “What is it?” Patrick asked. He sensed her mind had wandered and was unwilling to let it go far.

  Reaching for the robe on his elbow, she opened it and draped it around his shoulders. “I was just thinking of a discussion I had with John up in the woods. He’s a nice guy. A philosopher, if mathematicians can be that. We were talking football.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mmm. Funny, when I first saw you up there, I could only think of you as Lance. That changed pretty quick.”

  “Did it?” Patrick asked. His expression was suddenly serious. He’d wondered if it still bothered her that he had played football. She’d made it clear from the start that she had negative feelings about the game. And though she’d seemed to have come to accept that aspect of his past when they were in New Hampshire – hadn’t she, herself, asked him all about it? – he’d had any number of fears that when they’d returned to New York those negative feelings might come to the fore. “How do you feel about it now?”

  Jordanna knew precisely what he’d been thinking and, in hindsight, felt guilty for having made some of the statements she had. True, she was biased and, true, with good cause. But she’d generalized. She saw that now.

  “I think,” she began slowly, “that you gave the game a very important part of your life. I can only respect you for that. I also think that there’s far more to you than football. You’ve left it behind. You’re a successful businessman now. And a very nice human being.”

 
His mouth took hers in a slow, savoring kiss. “Mmm. I guess I can live with that.” Unable to resist the appeal of the lips he’d left soft and moist, he kissed her again. But his body was quickly responding to other soft, moist sources of appeal, and lest he repudiate Jordanna’s compliment and prove himself nothing more than a rutting beast, he set her back, secured his robe tightly and straightened his shoulders. “Now–” he cleared his throat “–about those steaks.…”

  Grilled medium rare on the Jenn-Air, the steaks were delicious, as was the salad and, miraculously, the potatoes once the top crust had been scraped away. With a dozen aromatic long-stemmed roses gracing the center of the marble table and Patrick scooping the last of his rum raisin ice cream from its bowl, Jordanna sat back in amusement.

  “You can lick it if you want.”

  His cheeks went red and he set his spoon down. “Sorry. I get carried away with this stuff.”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s a delight watching a growing boy eat. As for me–” she patted her stomach “–I don’t think I’ve eaten as much in… in… a month.”

  “Let me see.” His hand pushed hers away and caressed her softness. “Mmm. You do feel stuffed. I think the best thing for you to do is to stretch out somewhere comfortable.” He stood up.

  “What did you have in mind? Patrick…!”

  Lifting her in his arms, he started for the stairs. “The bed. Where else can one stretch out comfortably?”

  JORDANNA AWOKE in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Eyes wide in the darkness, she listened to those city sounds that never seemed to end. They were as they’d always been, but there was a new sound joining them. Patrick’s breathing. Slow. Even.

  She’d dreamed she was alone, but he was right beside her. Turning to face him, she moved her arm until it touched his. The feel of his flesh was comforting, the memory of his lovemaking intoxicating. But still there was the matter of her baby – Willow Enterprises – in danger. Unsettling, to say the least.

  Over and over she reviewed the situation. It occurred to her that if the Widener Corporation had not attempted its takeover, Patrick might not have come to her when he had. In time he would have. She was sure of that. If only it hadn’t taken this particular catalyst to bring them together!