Just One Look

by Joan Reeves

"Jennifer?" He asked, sliding his finger between two of hers and stroking up and down in a way that made shivers race up her spine.

  "Yes," she whispered, staggered by the suggestiveness of his movements.

  "The surprise, Jennifer. Don't you want to know what it is?"

  "Yes," she whispered, mesmerized by the movement of his index finger caressing her hand.

  "Okay." He removed his hand from hers. She felt abandoned as if he'd walked out in the middle of making love to her.

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bottle. Slowly, he removed the top. A heavy scent reminiscent of rose and musk and jasmine teased her.

  "What is that?" She reached for it.

  He wet his finger tip with the liquid in the bottle and stroked the pulse spot on the inside of her wrist. Then he lifted her wrist. "Do you like it?"

  She sniffed delicately. "Yes, it 's very nice."

  "It's massage oil. I thought I'd rub it into your skin until you glowed."

  Oh, yes, she cried silently. Yes! She was so stunned by the mental image that all she could do was nod her agreement.

  "All right," he said. Then the phone rang. "Oh, I'd better get that. I gave them your number."

  No, no, no, Jennifer wanted to scream. She rested her forearms on her thighs and lowered her head to rest, unable to believe he'd walked away. Again. After a murmured conversation, he returned. "I'm sorry, Jennifer, but I have to go."

  No. He couldn't leave her in this state. Not again. "But what about the massage oil?"

  "Oh, you keep it. Maybe you can use it as bath oil." With a quick kiss on her forehead, he departed.

  "Bath oil? Bath oil? I don't believe this," she wailed. "I'm trapped in a chastity nightmare."

  Chapter 10

  The last few days could be characterized as the agonies of the damned, Matt thought. He'd ended up driving by himself to her parents' lake house. He was afraid he'd taken his payback a little too far. Jennifer was cool and hostile, and she hadn't spoken ten words to him since he'd arrived in time for breakfast. Alva and her friend Bill Dixon were already gathered around the rectangular kitchen table.

  Matt took the bench opposite Alva and Bill. He sniffed appreciatively as he settled next to Jennifer. At least her mother hadn't shunned him. And she'd kept her promise about making yeast waffles. The country smoked ham had been a plus. He hadn't had a breakfast this good since the last time his mom had indulged him. The big rectangular table held platters of food and a carafe of coffee, and the delicious-smelling aromas made him realize how hungry he was.

  "So tell me, Matt," Bill Dixon said, "what type of fishing did you do down on the coast?"

  "I've done a little of everything. Popping, wade fishing, shallow water, deep sea. Fished from a pier. Fished from a motor boat. Went out in the Gulf on some of the bigger boats. It's all good."

  "Popping? What's that? Do you pop the fish right in the kisser?" Alva asked. She passed the platter of smoked ham to Matt.

  Matt smiled. "Not exactly. You use what they call a popping rod and fish from the pier or a boat. You constantly jerk the rod so the bait bobs, or pops, up and down in the water. It's supposed to attract the fish's attention and hook it then the jerking motion sets the hook."

  Matt helped himself to some of the ham and passed the platter to Bill. When the platter of crispy waffles reached him, he took one of those and drenched it with real maple syrup from a stoneware crock.

  For several minutes, Ed and Bill, who'd discovered that they'd met last year at a bass tournament in east Texas, discussed the merits of driving down to the coast in the spring and trying their hand at salt water fishing which neither had attempted before.

  Maybe he had gone too far, Matt thought, cutting a bite of ham from the thick slab. He stared at Jennifer, hoping she'd look at him instead of through him. He looked at his plate. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry. Mechanically, he chewed.

  He'd had to use ever ounce of his will power to force himself to stay away from Jennifer the last few days. After their last encounter, he'd known he couldn't trust himself to be alone with her again. He swallowed hard, thinking about the way she'd greeted him that night. She'd been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He'd wanted to rip that gold silk negligee from her luscious body.

  He'd known then that he couldn't hope to keep his desire on a short leash, especially when it seemed that she'd decided to seduce him. Even cold showers had proved futile so he'd given them up. He couldn't give up thinking about her though, fantasizing about her. Regretting what he'd thrown away that night. He only hoped she'd give him that chance again.

  Maybe it had been a dirty trick, arranging for his answering service to call him that night. But the trick had been on him too. When he'd got home, he'd decided he was tired of playing games. It was time to end this charade.

  He wanted her. In bed, out of bed, anyway he could have her. After the way she'd responded to him those times, he hoped that she wanted him too. At least he'd thought so until he'd arrived here. Now he wasn't so certain.

  Last night, the seeds of worry had been sown when he'd phoned to see if she'd ride with him to the lake house. He'd even have driven his Jag instead of his pickup if she'd agreed to go with him. She'd refused, saying that Alva and Bill were picking her up. But when he'd pulled into the yard, he'd seen her gold Lexus parked next to her parents' car. He figured the black Dodge pickup must belong to Dixon.

  After chatting with Bill a few minutes, he'd discovered that Jennifer had never intended to ride with Alva and Bill. She hadn't wanted to ride with him, he thought, dejected.

  Now, she sat next to him, but she completely ignored him. She acted as if she didn't know him any more intimately than she knew the five pound smallmouth bass they said she'd hauled out of the lake this morning.

  "So that little fish was the only one you caught this morning?" He asked, needling her, wanting her to at least look at him instead of through him.

  Jennifer bristled. "Five pounds isn't exactly a small bass."

  He nodded. "You're right. It's not bad. For a girl."

  Alva and Ronnie complained loudly about his remark to the accompaniment of laughs from Ed and Bill. Jennifer didn't say a word. She merely looked down her nose at him.

  Matt's spirits lifted. At least she wasn't ignoring him now. "Ronnie, these are the most delicious waffles I've ever eaten."

  "Why, thank you. Actually, the recipe is Jennifer's. She's an amazing cook."

  Jennifer cringed. The weekend was going to be difficult enough without her mother's matchmaking attempts. She wished she'd made an excuse and stayed home, but she hadn't wanted to disappoint her dad. He'd planned on their competing in the tournament together since last year.

  Maybe if she could keep her feelings under control, she'd manage to get through the two days without any bloodshed. Heaven knows, after that last frustrating evening with Matt, she'd been hell to live with. Her frustration had proved fertile ground for irritation to turn to anger. Still smarting from his rejection, she decided that she wouldn't go to bed with Matt Penrose if he got down on his knees and begged.

  She picked up her knife and fork and began cutting the ham. She worked away on the slice of meat until she had reduced it to quarter-inch cubes. The man was impossible. How had the tables turned so swiftly? One minute she had him salivating over her, and the next he was teasing and taunting her with his body.

  "Everything about fishing sounds tiring," Alva said. "You have to do all that popping or casting to attract a creature whose brain tissue is the size of a peanut. Next you have to perform some complex maneuver to set the hook in his poor little mouth. Then you have to yank him out of the water."

  "Not necessarily." Jennifer lay her fork down and picked up the heavy coffee mug. She smiled sweetly at Matt. "Some fishermen like to bait the hook and entice the fish, teasing it, never giving the fish what it wants. Then they get tired of the game and leave."

  Matt smiled back. "And some fishermen just don't like playing
juvenile games."

  "Well," Alva said, "I think that if I wanted that kind of aerobic workout I'd go to the gym. Treadmills don't smell as bad as fish. I'll let the rest of you have all that fun. I'm here to rest."

  "I agree, Alva." Ronnie refilled everyone's coffee cup. "My favorite kind of fishing is sitting on the end of that pier." She waved toward the pier visible through the back windows. "Give me a comfy chair and a cane pole and a glass of lemonade, and I'm set for the day."

  "She's so considerate of the fish that she doesn't even put a worm on her hook." Ed's eyes twinkled.

  Jennifer pushed her plate away. She challenged Matt with a look. "I don't play games. When I fish."

  "Oh, really? I thought game-playing was one of your specialties," Matt said, shoving his chair back.

  The others stopped talking and looked at Matt and Jennifer.

  "It's not, but I can play the game as well as the next person." Jennifer stood, her chest rose and fell quickly with each agitated breath.

  "Are you two talking about fishing?" Alva asked, her eyes wide as she lazily stirred sugar into her coffee.

  "Of course," Jennifer snapped. How dare Matt take that tone with her? He had a hell of a nerve. Everything had gotten all screwed up since that night they'd gone to the exhibit. Until then everything had been going according to her plan. Well, at least according to her revised plan. The one that called for them to fall into bed with each other.

  "Some fishermen don't know how to admit defeat when the game is over," Matt said, crossing his arms and staring at her. "They keep fighting when they should just give up gracefully and admit their mistakes."

  "Maybe the game isn't over yet," Jennifer retorted, a gleam in her eye. She thought back to the night of the exhibit. He'd been properly apologetic until they'd shared that torrid kiss in the parking lot.

  "Maybe it's just beginning," she said, thinking quickly about that night, trying to remember all the details.

  "Well, I know the tournament is beginning," Ed said. "Let's get going." He stood up and walked over to Ronnie. Kissing her on the cheek, he said, "Wish us luck, baby."

  Ronnie patted his cheek. "Go get that fourteen pounder, Ed."

  "Are you up to the challenge," Matt asked with a grin.

  "Damn straight," Jennifer said between gritted teeth. How dare he patronize her. She'd had the upper hand until that night in the parking lot when he'd kissed her senseless. They'd been talking about his learning to kiss in the front seat of his old Camaro, she remembered.

  Suddenly, she saw the whole scene in her head. He'd called her Jenny, and she'd called him Matthew. It was an exact replaying of the first time he'd kissed her that night after the Christmas prom. Even to her mother rapping on the window.

  He knew. That dirty rat knew. Her eyes searched his face. Damn him, he had to know. He must have figured out everything. Her identity. Her desire to embarrass him. Everything. And he'd decided to turn the tables on her.

  "I'll help Ronnie clean this mess up," Alva said. "You fisher people are welcome to the windy lake and the smelly fish."

  When Jennifer thought of all he'd said about helping her overcome her problem, she became incensed. And then the way he'd flaunted his body, teasing and exciting her, then leaving her unfulfilled and frustrated. A red mist descended over her eyes. Her bad mood slid down about forty notches and hit rock bottom. How dare he make a fool of her? Well, two could play this game.

  Suddenly, she gave Matt a blinding smile and sidled up to him. "Coming?" She asked softly.

  "Not yet," he said, just loud enough for her ears. "But the day is young."

  Damn him, Jennifer thought, blushing hotly. She glanced around, hoping, praying, her parents hadn't heard. They hadn't, but Alva had. Her friend snickered and grabbed Bill's arm and whispered to him.

  Jennifer forced a smile. "But the day is getting older by the minute so let's get to it." Matt was going to learn a thing or two about frustration this weekend, she decided, deliberately brushing against him.

  Matt felt every inch of his body come to attention at her casual touch. He'd love to get to it, he thought, watching the sway of her hips as she walked out of the kitchen. The faded jeans clung to her like a second skin and made him want to reach out and squeeze her luscious bottom.

  "The fish are waiting," Jennifer called over her shoulder. "Don't you want some?"

  "Indeed I do," he muttered, knowing she was playing a game of double entendre with him.

  * * *

  The morning mist over the lake had dissipated somewhat by the time they reached Ed's secret fishing spot. He'd guided the boat around dead stumps and past snakes sunning themselves on fallen logs.

  Jennifer stretched out on the bench seat at the back of the boat. Matt sat opposite her, watching her, she knew, even though dark glasses covered his eyes. She could almost feel the weight of his thoughts.

  The sun felt warm on her face. She removed her own sun glasses and closed her eyes. Leaning back on her elbows, she enjoyed the October morning. Matt's unabashed stare made her tingle, and she enjoyed that too, knowing his gaze was on her breasts. Her nipples tightened, begging for his touch. She felt the need for him in her sex where her pulse pounded.

  Thank goodness, her dad was too interested in telling Bill about the lake's honey holes, spots where the fish always bite, to notice what she was doing.

  Enough of enjoying his gaze, she thought, replacing her sunglasses. It was time to make Matt suffer. She stretched her arms wide. Her faded red flannel shirt, shrunken from many washings, stretched tight over her breasts. The top button slipped through the frayed buttonhole.

  She knew from this angle that only Matt would be able to notice. And notice he did. She could tell by the bulge in his jeans that he was completely aware of her every move. She ran her hands down her waist, over her stomach, down her thighs, as if stretching and massaging stiff muscles. Then she reached up behind her neck and leisurely ran her hands through her short hair, mussing it in what she hoped was a sexy way. She pressed her arms together as if stretching and that caused her breasts to push together until she had maximum cleavage. Then she relaxed her arms and let them fall to her side and once again lay back on the seat. Carefully she peered from beneath her lashes at him. He hadn't taken his eyes off her. He shifted uncomfortably on the seat as if his jeans were too tight and restrictive.

  Matt thought about the feasibility of jumping into the lake to control his runaway imagination but he'd have to take his eyes off Jennifer to do so. He decided against it. She was too much of a treat to miss a moment of looking at her. Her shirt gaped open enough that he could see the rounded tops of her breasts. He remembered how her skin had felt beneath his fingers as he'd stroked her there.

  For several minutes he just watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Laying there the way she was, with her legs slightly spread, made him crazy. Her body was an invitation that he wanted to accept, but he couldn't possibly. Not until they were alone.

  He heard Bill say, "Let me get my tackle box from in back."

  Abruptly, Matt leaned over and rebuttoned her shirt. He didn't care if her father saw him do it either. There was no way he was going to let another man view what belonged to him.

  "Did you come here to fish or to lounge around?" He asked her gruffly.

  Jennifer whipped her glasses off and looked at him. "Why fish, of course." She smiled with saccharine sweetness. "I want to hook a big one."

  He saw her eyes drop to his crotch and linger before she looked back at his face and smiled.

  Matt didn't know how he could have blushed when he was sure every ounce of blood he possessed was centered below his waist. Maybe that explained the slowness of his brain. He simply had no blood left to make the trip to his head.

  "Okay, kids, it's every man, or woman, for himself," Ed said, casting toward a jagged stump about twenty feet away.

  By noon, only Ed and Bill had caught anything worth keeping. Jennifer had taken several small blu
e gill perch and one or two crappie but had thrown them all back.

  Matt had a comment to make each time. So when he had the same failure to catch anything as she, she returned the favor with remarks about his fishing skills.

  Then Ed shouted, "I've got it. I've got it."

  Jennifer began shouting instructions along with Bill and Matt. Each of them thought they knew the best way to bring the fish in.

  "Oh, he's a beauty," Jennifer shouted, seeing a flash beneath the surface of the water.

  Matt grabbed the net before she could reach it. He leaned over the edge of the boat and got the net beneath the fish. Carefully, he and Ed landed the fish.

  "Oh, Dad, you did it," Jennifer exclaimed. "He's got to be fourteen pounds if he's an ounce.

  "I think he might even be as high as fifteen." Matt grinned. "Looks like you've got that down payment on your motor home."

  Ed grinned from ear to ear. "Wait till I show Ronnie."

  "Yeah," Bill said, "but first we have to go show the judges." He made sure the second basket, reserved for trophy fish, was secure. Ed placed his fish in that basket to keep it separate from the ones they'd caught for eating.

  Forty-five minutes later, they'd had the catch recorded and photographed. Ed even got interviewed by a writer for the local weekly paper. Everyone seemed certain that no one could top his catch.

  "That one gets stuffed and hung on the wall," Ed said.

  At least something good had come from the day, Jennifer thought, smiling at her dad's happiness.

  "I think we should head for the house and see what's for lunch," Ed said, starting the motor. It hesitated then tried to die but after an instant, evened out. Ed frowned. "Looks like that motor is still acting up."

  "Sounds okay to me," Bill said, removing the grub from his line.

  "I guess this wasn't my day," Matt said.

  "Well, maybe your luck will improve," Jennifer said. "Maybe it will be your night." She'd grown quite adept at making him, one might say, rise to the bait, she thought, grinning as her dad pushed the throttle forward over an open stretch of water. The wind felt good on her face. Remarkably, Matt hadn't said anything since her last zinger. Had he tired of the game?