“Frederic Remington was a salesman.” Alys flung her purse on top of the suitcase he’d lugged up earlier. She hadn’t considered how difficult hauling that thing around would have been for her if it hadn’t been for Elliot. “He sculpted emotionally appealing images for the masses.”
Now that they were finally alone, she was stalling. Elliot hadn’t signed up for another room. He’d returned here without a word of expectation. She’d had hours in which to imagine how she would do this. She couldn’t decide if she was nervous or eager or both.
As if he’d known what she had in mind, Elliot had gone out of his way to be accommodating. He’d toured the museum as if he’d actually been interested in Western art. He’d found Mame’s name in the guest book before she did. Apparently reassured that his aunt was well and playing games, he’d agreed to Alys’s choice of restaurants, although he’d refused the barbecue specialty.
He’d even picked up the tab.
And now he was checking his cell phone for messages and pulling out his laptop computer as if he meant to settle down to business.
Damn, he was going to make her work for this, wasn’t he?
Dropping to the bed, Alys sat cross-legged and flicked the remote control to the TV news. Elliot diligently typed away at his keyboard, ignoring her.
He’d showered and changed into a navy knit golf shirt that molded to his chest. He wasn’t a muscle-bound man, but she was quite certain he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He had the wide shoulders of a jock and the trim abs of a runner. He had a curl in the middle of his forehead.
Studying Elliot’s narrow face eased the physical tension building inside her. If she didn’t imagine how his body would fit against hers, she could watch those deep, intelligent eyes forever. Even when he studied her as if she were a flake in his coffee, his eyes reflected concern and a fascinating interest that had her thinking things she had no right to think.
She loved the strong jut of his nose with that bit of extra downturn on the end. It seemed to point out the sensual mobility of his mouth. He pulled a stern face too often, but she’d seen him laugh. Surely all the humor on his talk show wasn’t scripted. Maybe Fate had assigned her the duty of teaching him to laugh more—as long as she could go her merry way afterward.
She sighed over the strong column of his throat above the open button of his shirt. He apparently did his jogging without a shirt. He had a lovely bronze tan. If she thought about that too much, she’d remember how white and frail Fred had been, and she would freeze up again.
She should have had two glasses of beer at dinner instead of one.
Elliot’s absentminded rub at his midsection sealed the deal. He was too good a man to lose to ulcers at this early age. Mame would want her to take care of her favorite nephew. And Alys knew how to do it.
Recalling her sales lessons from years ago, she mentally repeated them while she flicked off the TV remote and removed her gauzy blouse. Be positive. Be aggressive. Make the first move.
She stood up to drop her blouse over her suitcase, and a corner of Elliot’s eye twitched. She’d put on a fresh shirt after her shower, a short goldenrod knit that the gauzy blouse had mostly concealed. Without the blouse, he could see her nipples if he looked.
He was trying hard not to look.
“Do you think Mame will call tonight?” she asked, wanting his full attention.
“Only if she’s ready to go to the hospital,” he said, hitting a key on his laptop and glancing up.
Alys smiled and stripped off her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
* * *
Elliot forgot Mame, his e-mail, and where he was.
Alys Seagraves had the perfect breasts of a Playboy model. Without the airbrushing. He could see a small mole just below her right breast. And maybe the left one was just a little larger than the right. He wanted to weigh them in his hands to find out. Bigger than peaches, smaller than cantaloupes, but just as round, their pointed pink tips begged to be plucked and tasted.
He tried to think beyond the physical but he’d lost control of his mind the instant she’d stripped off her shirt. He was standing up and didn’t know how he’d got there.
“Life is meant to be lived, isn’t it?” she was saying into the vacuum inside his head.
He wanted to ask her to define “life,” but his tongue wasn’t capable of coherent speech. Her delicate rosy nipples pointed upward as pertly as her nose. They were tight and hard and begging for attention.
“We can get a little of this tension out of our way and concentrate on Mame with more positive energy,” she offered, a trifle nervously.
He was making her nervous. That wouldn’t do. She’d offered herself up for his rejection, and he couldn’t hurt her like that. She was newly widowed and needing release as much as he did.
“The body needs sex, doesn’t it?” she asked, as if she’d heard his thought . . . and maybe sought some reassurance that she wasn’t being foolish.
“It’s a healthy, physical activity,” he agreed, cursing himself for sounding like a radio talk-show host.
How in heck would he know how to talk at times like this? He’d never had a time like this in his life.
“I have no communicable diseases,” she whispered when he stepped within touching distance of her.
“I haven’t had the time or the opportunity to pick up any,” he murmured. Did those lovely pink whorls just pucker and extend more?
“Condoms?” she asked brightly when he reached to touch.
Elliot halted in his tracks.
She winced at his hoarse expletive and looked as if she’d like to pull her shirt around her, had she been wearing one. Instead, she crossed her arms over her beautiful breasts.
Elliot drove his hand through his hair and forced himself to meet her gaze. “You deserve better than this.” He couldn’t believe that inane sentiment had tumbled from his mouth.
She had a heartbreakingly expressive face. Not glamorous or striking, and maybe not even pretty. Her big eyes were spaced too far apart, her nose was too short, and her luscious mouth was small to match her narrow chin. But together, her features were mobile and perfect. He read disappointment and relief and curiosity all at once in the way her lips curved and her dark lashes tilted over her disconcertingly light eyes.
Daringly, he brushed a silky strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her perfectly formed ear. She ought to have pointy ears like a fairy sprite. She had a child’s soft skin, and it colored as easily as a little girl’s. Without thinking, Elliot dipped his head to taste an apricot-colored cheek.
She tilted her head, and his mouth encountered lips sweeter than wine.
Instinct routed civilized thought. Or maybe it was testosterone. He had to touch her.
Elliot wrapped his arm around her supple waist and lifted her against him so he could taste as well as touch. He almost staggered beneath the flood of sensation.
Her bare breasts crushed against his chest, and he would have stripped off his shirt to feel her skin to skin if she hadn’t sank so deep into his kiss that he couldn’t bear to let her go. She clung to his neck and returned his kiss with a hungry urgency that escalated his body temperature in a flash.
She tasted so damn good. Like steak and chocolate and rich wine and all the things he’d denied himself for so long. She parted her lips and he probed deeper, needing to be so deep inside her that he couldn’t come up for air.
Their tongues met and clashed, and they toppled backward onto the bed. Alys tugged at his shirt, until Elliot tore it off and flung it across the room. Finally, he had her beautiful breasts rubbing his chest, and he fastened his mouth hungrily to hers to keep from seeking lower.
Her hips bucked under his, but he wasn’t ready to give her that yet. He wanted it all, every savoring minute and all night, if he could have it. A nagging reminder at the back of his mind warned him against something, but in full rut, he couldn’t remember what.
He hadn’t dared imagine this
moment, but now that it was here, he couldn’t think beyond it.
She had slender, smooth hands that curled enticingly around his back, exploring with the same sense of wonder that he felt. Sinking into the myriad sensations of her kiss, Elliot didn’t think he could ever learn them all: the way her lips softened, and her tongue caressed, and her breath tasted of peppermint. He could spend the night just kissing her.
But like a child in a candy shop, he couldn’t resist asking for more. Sliding his hand between them, he filled his palm with the weight of her breast and brushed the aroused tip with his thumb. He squeezed gently, his whole focus on the sensual give of womanly softness.
If he hadn’t been on top of her, she would have levitated from the bed. Instead, she moaned and writhed against him.
Reaching for his fly— He remembered why he wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Hell of a time for his brain to kick in.
With every ounce of the willpower that had driven him to the peak of his career, Elliot rolled off and stared at the ceiling. His chest heaved and his groin screamed in stiff protest.
“No condoms,” he reminded her gruffly before she could say anything.
She lay so still, he wondered if he’d hurt her. Fearing the worst, he propped himself on one elbow to study her. Crystal eyes stared up at him with wonder and admiration, and all of a sudden, he felt like Adonis. He dug his fingers into the bed to prevent them from straying to her breasts.
She closed her eyes, and he figured that was the signal for him to back off. Gingerly, he rearranged his too-tight underwear and rolled from the bed. She didn’t move. They hadn’t made it all the way onto the huge mattress. Her knees hung over the end. He could lift her hips from the mattress and . . .
Sighing, Elliot turned his back on her. He should have at least waited until he’d removed her leggings so he could have seen all of her. “I think I’ll run around the block a few times. We’ll leave early in the morning, so get some sleep.”
“Better find some penguin pajamas while you’re out,” she muttered.
Some women considered his brains sexy, but Elliot couldn’t remember any of them finding his body so irresistible that they wanted him to cover it. “I’ll bring a pair for you while I’m at it.”
Alys listened while Elliot pulled on a shirt and jogging shoes and let himself out. She didn’t dare open her eyes until she heard the door close. Maybe she should have gone running with him.
Her entire body hummed. Heck, it sang out loud in a raucous chorus of “I want you, babe,” complete with drum roll and crashing guitars. Maybe she should be a songwriter.
She didn’t think she could attain a meditative position while remembering the silky feel of the dark line of curls down the middle of Elliot’s impressive chest.
She didn’t think she could sleep, either. She lay there trying to relive the sensation of Elliot’s hungry mouth devouring hers, the possessive urgency of his tongue sliding between her teeth, the exquisite pleasure of his thumb on her breast, and she almost cried with the pain of unquenched desire.
At least she wasn’t numb anymore.
All she had to do was figure out how to live without fulfilling desire. Neat trick.
Maybe Elliot would buy condoms instead of pajamas.
More likely, he was hunting a vibrator. Like he needed an airhead flake in his life right now. A lost waif in the woods of life. A woman determined to let his beloved aunt die if she so chose . . . at least to his way of thinking.
That doused her with the efficiency of a cold bucket of water.
There wasn’t much future in a man who would hate her.
Not that she wanted a future with Elliot Roth, she told herself, rolling from the bed. A brief fling in the sack was all she needed. Tomorrow, maybe. They’d have all day. The next stop on the itinerary wasn’t even two hours away.
Chapter Eight
Seek inner peace, Alys cautioned her rampaging libido, watching Elliot drape the shoulder strap of her heavy bag over his shoulder, rippling muscles she’d barely had time to explore last night. In his formfitting blue golf shirt and draped trousers, he was every woman’s dream come true. She suspected a sleeping tiger might lurk beneath the Doc Niceness, but he’d proved his trustworthiness in her eyes.
She couldn’t handle roaring tigers or alpha apes right now. To step out into the world, she needed the security of a purring cat. With the proper handling, Elliot fit the bill.
He’d come in from jogging last night after she’d fallen asleep, and he’d been up and jogging before she woke. If he’d slept in that acre-wide bed with her at all, she’d barely known it.
In packing this morning, he’d folded a fresh pair of blue pajamas into the overnight bag she was wheeling out of the room for him now. He’d done more than jog when he was out last night. What else had he bought while he was shopping? A shiver of anticipation brightened her day.
When he checked the room for anything they’d left behind, he caught her staring. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and unconsciously, she licked her lips to see if she’d applied lipstick.
“Breakfast,” he said, not lifting his gaze.
“Healthy,” she agreed.
The electricity between them was so powerful, they were thinking each other’s thoughts. Dangerous her primal instincts screamed. Necessary overruled instinct.
He dangled the car keys he’d usurped last night. “You, or me?”
Clinging to the potted orchid, Alys let the warmth of appreciation fill her. He might occasionally seem stressed and remote, but he’d paid attention to her need to see everything. She could give him this little piece of the pie. “You. It’s a short journey today. We have time to find a store where I can buy a book on orchids.”
“We aren’t going to catch Mame until she’s ready to be caught, are we?” He closed the bedroom door behind him, and brushed a stray hair from her cheek as if he had some need to verify her reality. When she continued hugging the plant, he picked up the suitcase again.
“No. She needs to come to terms with her own mortality.” She’d thought about that a lot. Deep down, she understood Mame’s rebellion. Understanding didn’t prevent her from panicking if she let herself think about Mame slumped over a steering wheel. To maintain her positivity, she’d rather stay in the moment and go with the flow.
“And while she’s at it, she’s teaching us a lesson about living?” he asked dryly. “When my brothers were little, they used to threaten to run away when Mame wouldn’t let them do something foolish. She would hand them a backpack with lunch and a bottle of water and tell them to give her a call when they got where they were going.”
“I take it you were too smart to run away?”
“Maybe, or maybe I lacked the courage. I was the oldest. I remembered too clearly the night my parents died. You could say I had abandonment issues.”
He was showing her who he was. Along with satisfaction and wonder that Doc Nice had chosen to share himself with her, Alys discovered a burning hunger to know more. “I know you lost them in a car crash. Did they die instantly?”
The elevator let them out in the lobby, and she thought he’d forgotten the question by the time he’d handed in the key and progressed to the parking garage with their suitcases.
But he’d simply been biding his time. Opening the Caddy’s trunk, he picked up where they’d left off. “I like to think they did. Dad had a heart attack and probably wasn’t conscious. It was pouring rain and dark, and I don’t remember hearing anything but my brothers crying. I’d been told it was important to get out of a broken car and get away from the road until help arrived, so I pried Eric out of his car seat and helped Ben out of his seat belt. We were lucky that the car landed as it did. We climbed out of the back seat on the side away from the road.”
“How old were you?” she asked in amazement.
“Seven.”
He didn’t seem to think that required comment. “Are we eating here?”
“I checked the telephone dire
ctory and there’s an IHOP by the interstate,” she said to take her mind off his story.
“Carbohydrates,” he protested.
“They serve eggs. You need protein. It’s cheaper than the hotel.”
He opened the passenger door for her, then climbed in behind the wheel and steered the Caddy into early-morning traffic.
Elliot slanted a glance at her but drove back through the city in the direction she indicated. Alys sighed in contentment. It had been years since she’d indulged in sticky sweet crepes. Besides, if he was buying meals, she didn’t want to cost him too much.
Holding the tall plant in her lap so it wouldn’t fall over, Alys tried to imagine the terrified little boy he’d been, standing in the rain with his brothers protectively cuddled in his arms while he waited for his world to right itself again. Tears formed, and she wiped at them, knowing he’d hate to see her cry.
“How long was it before Mame came to get you?” she asked, continuing their conversation while they waited to be seated in the air-conditioned cold of the restaurant.
He didn’t miss a beat. The connection between them was still there. “At the time, it felt like years. The police arrived, and the ambulances, and they took us to the hospital. By that time, my brothers were shaking and crying, and I had to try to comfort them. But I’ll never forget the relief of hearing Mame’s voice outshouting doctors and nurses and cops. It was the most welcome sound I’ve ever known. She walked all over them to get at us.”
Alys nodded, too caught up in the tragedy to trust speech. How old would Mame have been that night? In her thirties? Widowed for years, with a life of her own, Mame had loved enough to sacrifice everything for her nephews.
She heard the love in Elliot’s voice, and understood his need to take care of Mame as his aunt had taken care of him. Pointing out that Mame wasn’t seven years old wouldn’t alleviate his emotional need to rescue her. She couldn’t deny his spiritual connection to Mame was far greater than hers.
Bowing before his greater need, she surrendered her own selfish concerns. “We can go right to the hotel she’s reserved for tonight,” she offered, taking his arm as the hostess led them back to a table. She needed to absorb his strength while she sacrificed the trip of a lifetime. Her needs were irrelevant compared to his. “We’ll hide Beulah, sit in the lobby, and wait for Mame to show up.”
California Girl Page 9