Destiny Bay Boxed Set vol. 2 (Books 4 - 6) (Destiny Bay Romances)

by Helen Conrad

  She turned slowly and looked at Jace, unconscious on the bed. A shadowy stubble was beginning to darken his jaw. His hair was rumpled, his face young and open in sleep. He'd lost a young and innocent child. The pain—how could he bear it? She'd condemned him for drinking, criticized him for lacking standards. And all the while he'd been trying to deal with a wound too deep, too painful for comfort. Her heart melted, and she felt tears well up in her eyes.

  She moved back to the bed and, reaching out a hand, touched a lock of his hair. She wanted to do something for him, help dull his pain. He grunted and twitched, frowned, then relaxed again. She moved down to the foot of the bed and began to unlace one of his black leather shoes.

  First one, then the other. She pulled them off his feet and set them side by side near the bed. Then she sank down to sit beside him and reached for his tie.

  He'd loosened it already, but in doing so, he'd made a knot. She worked at it, prying and pulling with her fingernails, and all the while she was very much aware of the even sound of his breathing.

  The knot loosened in her fingers. She pulled the tie from the collar, slowly so as not to disturb him. It came free, and she tossed it onto the chair, then reached back to start on the buttons of his shirt.

  The heat of his body was tantalizing beneath her fingers as she worked, but she went on doggedly, determined to treat this as a job and get it over with. One by one the buttons came open, and when she reached the waist of his slacks, she hesitated for only a moment before taking hold of the leather belt and deftly unbuckling it, then pulling it free.

  The clasp was no problem, and then she fumbled for the zipper, releasing it with a snap of the wrist. A bigger job was tugging the slacks off him. She tried to turn his hips and pull down one side, then turn him slightly and pull down the other, but as often as not, he groaned and turned to just the wrong side. She was out of breath before she finally pulled them off and folded them on the chair to join the tie and belt.

  It wasn't until then that she allowed herself to look at what she'd done.

  His body was even more magnificent than it had been in his swimming days. The shoulders were strong, rounded, the muscles straining even in repose. His chest was covered with short dark hair which tapered down to a V just above his navel. His hips were narrow and hard, his legs full and vital and strong. He was MAN in capital letters, man in hyperbole, man in all his wild and sexual glory, and Kathy's heart beat so hard, she could hardly stand up.

  She should go. She knew that. But he was so . . . so beautiful. Reaching out, her fingers trembling, she touched his chest lightly, then pulled back quickly, as though he was burning hot.

  She waited for a moment, breath held. Nothing happened. He didn't even stir.

  She reached out again, touching the thick fur of his chest, barely skimming the surface. He felt good. Slowly, softly, she let her fingers sink into the thick hair, gliding across the hot hardness of his flesh.

  A little intoxicated by the excitement of touching him, she wondered what it would be like to have this man. How would he hold her? How would he ignite the fire that had lain dormant for so long?

  She drew her hand back and pressed it to her throat, trying to still the wild hammering in her blood. She had to go. She had to get out of there as quickly as she could. And yet she couldn't take her eyes off him.

  One more touch, she promised herself, and then she'd go. Her hand went out slowly, lingered just a moment in the air, then dropped to smooth back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. She touched his cheek, letting the flat of her hand rasp against the growing stubble. Time stood still. Her hand caressed him, moved across him, learning the contours as though preparing a map. He was beautiful, a work of art, a splendid Greek statue with the face of a devilish angel. It broke her heart to think of the cruelty that had led to his drinking binge.

  “At least he's found his oblivion,” she whispered. And finally she leaned close, very close, until her lips just touched the skin near his ear. As she pulled away again, she stared right into his dark, very open eyes.

  “Oh!” she gasped, but too late. His hand shot out, tangling in her hair, and he pulled her back down against him on the bed.

  His mouth closed on hers, and despite her shock, liquid fire coursed between them, bonding their bodies, enveloping them in a flame of desire that she'd never, never felt before. The cloth of her dress was almost all that was between them, and it seemed to melt away in the heat. Stunned, unable to think, she closed her eyes and let sensation carry her into a swirling fantasy, a roller-coaster ride of pure temptation.

  Hard and hot, sweet and terrifying, his body was beneath her hands, against her, surrounding her, covering her. His hands were magic, creating a tingling, tantalizing rush of excitement everywhere he touched. Her hips began to move against him of their own accord, searching for a deepening of the mind-drugging pleasure.

  And suddenly he muttered something in her ear.

  “Sweet Kathy” was part of it. The rest, it seemed to her blurred mind, was something about a wife.

  “No . . . Jace!” She struggled, thinking she was struggling against his arms, but she was actually struggling with herself. “No, cut it out.”

  A wife. The world came back into focus, and she began to pull away. It wasn't hard. He didn't put up much of a fight. She pulled away and rolled out of the bed, straightening herself briskly. She was acting like an idiot. Thank God he was too drunk to remember this.

  “Kathy,” he muttered softly, reaching a hand up toward her. His eyes were dark, troubled.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I'm not your wife.”

  She turned and walked swiftly to the door of the room, not looking back. In seconds she was in her car, in minutes she was racing down the highway toward her own motel, and safety.

  CHAPTER THREE:

  Cheaters Never Prosper

  Light hurt. Jace closed his eyes again and tried to block it out. It took a moment or two for him to recognize that the pounding he heard wasn't construction going on in the building. The noise was coming from inside his head. No way to escape it. He groaned, but that hurt too, so he lay very still and tried to imagine he was dead.

  Dead. Interesting thought. When you were dead you didn't feel anything. The world left you alone. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing hurt.

  The telephone ringing was like a blow to the head. He grabbed the receiver just to stop the sound.

  “What?” he growled into the molded piece of plastic.

  “Mr. Harper, this is the desk. You left a wake-up call for eight a.m. It is now exactly eight-oh-one and thirty seconds.”

  A grunt was all he could manage in answer. It took two tries before he could get the phone back in its cradle. But his eyes were open now. Another day, another dollar.

  His head felt like a tunnel on the expressway. Hideous, noisy things kept roaring through. It took effort to feel the rest of his body. He wriggled his toes and thought he felt something down there. At least the covers seemed to move.

  He pushed up onto one elbow with difficulty. He had a business meeting at ten. It would probably take him that long to make himself presentable. Coffee would help. He glanced at the phone again, but he knew it would take so long to get room service that getting up and walking to the coffee shop on his own was probably a better plan.

  Something was sticking into his ribs. He moved and felt for the object, coming up with a gold earring sculpted into the shape of a climbing rose. He stared at it for a moment, as though he couldn't quite make out what it was.

  “Oh my God,” he breathed at last, horrified.

  He must have brought a woman home with him the night before. It had been years since he'd done anything that stupid. He listened for a moment, just in case she was still in the bathroom, but all he heard was the pounding in his head. She was gone. But what about his wallet?

  He rose painfully and found his slacks, wallet still in the pocket, folded carefully on the chair, along with his shirt, a
lso neat and tidy. He stared at them, squinting against the light, knowing he never would have left his clothes in such a condition himself. The woman must have done it.

  Kathy Carrington. The name came into focus, but he couldn't conjure up much of a face to go with it. What he could remember was thick blond hair, a musky perfume, and the touch of a hand so gentle, it made him pull in his breath sharply to think of it.

  Kathy Carrington. That was right. She'd been his wife-for-the-night.

  Had they made love? Somehow he didn't think so. But if not, why did he remember her scent so strongly? Why did his memory tantalize him with snatches of the feel of her, the taste of her?

  Why was her earring in his bed?

  The sting of the shower water did a lot toward waking him up. More memories of Kathy Carrington came creeping back. Poor woman. He'd coerced her into taking care of him, hadn't he? The funny thing was, he wished she'd stayed around. He could use some comforting right now—a wife again, to tidy him up, set him straight, to touch him with that gentle hand and . . .

  Wait. She was a swimmer, training for the next Olympics. She was crazy of course, but that wasn’t unusual for a top notch athlete. They were always reaching for something beyond the stars. She would be obsessed with her focus. He ought to leave her alone.

  He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. Naw. She needed someone to talk some sense into her. And who better than he himself?

  “Selfish bastard,” he muttered to himself as he toweled off. But he grinned at his unshaven image in the mirror. He would have to take the earring back to Kathy Carrington. There was no choice in the matter.

  The huge natatorium rang with the shouts of the water polo players in the next pool. So used to them she didn't even hear all the noise they made, Kathy was using the twenty-five-yard pool, and she was all alone. The viewing stands lining the sides of the building were empty. This was workout time, for both her and the polo guys.

  Kathy adjusted her goggles and dove effortlessly into the shimmering blue water. Her body took the shock of the contact, relishing it. The water seemed to hold her and caress her and refresh her, all at once. She loved to swim.

  “Do an easy five hundred to warm up,” Jim had told her.

  She did that and more, enjoying the sliding smoothness of the water as her body slipped through it. Back and forth, back and forth, the rhythm became automatic, leaving her mind free to wander.

  This was so much a part of her life, and she wouldn't have it any other way. She worked out in the morning, then spent a few hours earning a meager paycheck by performing odd jobs, mostly clerical, at Jim's electronics firm back in the California coastal town of Destiny Bay, her home town. Then, in the afternoon, she worked out again and did some weight training. And that was it. Period.

  Old friends thought she was ruining her life.

  “Are you kidding? You’re too old for this sort of monotonous training. Get a clue, Kathy!”

  But it was exactly what she needed. She was sustained by her friendship with Jim and also by her friendship with Maxie, her roommate and Jim's right-hand woman at the firm. If it weren't for Maxie, Jim wouldn't be able to get away as much as he did to train Kathy. If it weren't for Maxie, Kathy wouldn't have the good belly laughs that cleared her brain, relaxed her, and got her ready for another day of steady physical work. All in all it was a simple life, but that was just what she needed. Too much excitement would destroy her focus.

  She grabbed the gutter at the end of a lap and pulled herself up to rest, her goggles shoved up on her head. The familiar sound of Jim's wheelchair brought her around.

  “Hey,” she called. “I didn't expect you until this afternoon.”

  Jim's hard, thin face didn't smile. He rode up close to the edge of the pool and looked down at her. “And I expected you to start your workout at six,” he countered. “Where were you?”

  She glanced at the clock on the far wall of the natatorium. It was half past nine. “I had kind of a late night last night.”

  “I know. I tried to call you. “

  She looked at his face again, surprised by his accusatory tone. “You were the one who made me go to that horrible party,” she said. Was he really upset with her? She hated to think that. She grinned impishly at him, just to coax him to relax. “I only did what you told me to.”

  It worked. Jim was a serious, some might even say dour, man. With his short-cropped brown hair and bright, intelligent brown eyes, he looked like an engineer or an accountant. Although he continued to run the electronics firm he’d founded in Destiny Bay, these days his entire emotional life was wrapped up in Kathy's comeback.

  That was mostly because of his passion for swimming. But it was also because he liked Kathy. And he never could resist when she smiled at him. The corners of his mouth twitched in response to her teasing tone.

  “I didn't tell you to have a good time while you were at it, now did I?” he replied.

  Kathy blinked. Flashes of guilt snapped through her. “I . . . what makes you think I had a good time?”

  Good Lord, was she blushing? And the stupid thing was, she really couldn't call what she'd had a “good time” at all. A perplexing time. A disturbing time. But not all that good.

  But Jim didn't seem to notice. “It went all right, then?” he asked.

  She shrugged, looking away. For just a moment she considered telling him about Jace Harper, but then she hesitated. After all, what was there to tell? That she'd seen her old hero and he'd disappointed her? Big deal. Jim wouldn't be interested.

  And then there was the fiasco with that Charlton Boyd man and his large wallet. She gritted her teeth. She was going to have to tell him about her epic failure there. She started to fill him in, apologizing for her inept attempt at fundraising, but to her relief, he brushed it off.

  “The Boyd representative called me first thing this morning and made a major donation. Whatever you did, it worked.”

  “No kidding,” she said evasively, surprised. “Uh…How was Salt Lake?”

  “Fine. I got my business taken care of late yesterday and got back to the motel about midnight.” He raised one eyebrow. “And tried to call you.”

  More guilt pangs. Around midnight she'd been in Jace Harper's motel room instead of in her own motel room where she belonged.

  For the last year, ever since they began working together, she and Jim had been almost inseparable. He'd been her friend, her mentor, her support in every way. And she liked to think she'd been the same to him. Now, for some reason, she felt as though she were hiding something from him. She didn't like that feeling.

  “Okay,” he said, all business again. “Eight hundreds on the one-ten. Glide past the flags.” He bent over the side of his chair to start the lap clock.

  She groaned. “You should have stayed in Salt Lake another day or two,” she called as she adjusted her goggles. “Maybe you could have looked into buying some whips to fit that slave-driver image you're getting.”

  But all he said was, “Ready . . . go!”

  She pushed off from the wall, her body arched in a glide, and the workout had begun in earnest.

  On the turn in her fifth hundred she saw someone come up and speak to Jim. She got only a flash of a picture, so when she hit the wall, she raised her head to see who it was. Funny how she'd never have thought it would be Jace Harper.

  Funny. But there he was.

  She continued swimming the hundreds, conscious that he was watching. The gold-medal prince. She reached just a little farther, kicked just a little harder. He might laugh at her goal, but he wouldn't laugh at her form.

  Out of breath when she finished, she tugged off her goggles and her latex cap and vaulted up onto the deck of the pool. Jim looked surprised that she would interrupt her workout, but she didn't want the two men talking together. Irrational, perhaps, but it made her nervous.

  “Hello.” She met Jace's gaze coolly. It was on the tip of her tongue to make a comment about the hangover he must be
feeling, but a glance at Jim stopped her. “Do you two know each other?”

  Jim nodded, though he didn't look overjoyed at admitting it. “We swam together in college,” he said shortly. “He says the two of you met last night at the party.”

  She turned her gaze to Jace and then wished she hadn't. If the man had a hangover, misery looked good on him. From his attractively casual thick hair to his laughing dark blue eyes, he was all male and all involved in looking her over.

  “Wow,” he said, shaking his head appreciatively as he gazed at her in her wet swimsuit. “I've been away from Lycra too long.”

  Kathy lived in Lycra, spent most of her time in an environment where little of her body could have remained a secret to anyone. She'd lived that way most of her life and had never been particularly body-conscious.

  Suddenly she was aware of herself as she'd probably never been before. She moved awkwardly, grabbing a towel and holding it to her chest in a move that made her discomfort patently obvious.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jim's frown, but she ignored it. “What do you want?” she asked Jace sharply.

  His grin told her that he'd correctly read her move to cover herself as a defense against him and that he liked putting her on edge. “I thought I'd drop by and see how the obsessed side lives,” he said smoothly.

  His low, easy drawl reminded her of how he'd looked the night before, his hair tousled, his eyes drooping sleepily. She didn't want to think about that, and she turned to give Jim a bright smile.

  “Jace thinks we're tilting at windmills,” she said. “Or, to put it more plainly, he thinks we're nuts. That I'm too old.” She shrugged nervously.

  “Harper, you never did know anything about theory or technique,” Jim said scornfully. The philosophy behind this project was his own, and he defended it vigorously whenever he got the chance.

  “I know enough to know that most of the swimming world thinks you're over the edge,” Jace responded good-naturedly, standing with legs wide.