by Sandra Field
“Are you free next weekend?”
“Yes,” he said, without even checking his date book.
“I’m going away on Thursday for my annual buying trip—there’s a wonderful glass shop in Old Montreal. If you wanted to join me, I—”
“I’ll join you,” he said promptly.
Her voice high-pitched, she said, “I want to go to bed with you. That’s why I’m phoning.”
“You’re on.”
“I—what did you say?”
Jake said patiently, “Yes, I’d be delighted to meet you in Montreal, and yes, I’d like to go to bed with you.”
Like? Desperate would be a more accurate word.
“Oh,” said Shaine. “Really?”
“I might have been acting like one of your brothers in the Canaries, but my thoughts were far from fraternal. That green bikini falls into the category of cruel and unusual punishment.”
“It’s turquoise and you hardly gave me a second glance!”
“That’s what you think,” Jake said, deciding he sounded remarkably childish and not caring one whit. “I was endeavoring to protect our son from the sordid facts of life. Who’ll look after him on the weekend?”
“Devlin.” Unmistakable panic in her tone, she added, “Daniel mustn’t find out about us meeting in Montreal—it’s between you and me.”
“Of course,” he said soothingly. “I know a wonderful old inn in Vieux-Montréal, I’ll make a reservation. When do you arrive?”
“I can’t afford—”
“I can.”
With more of her usual spirit, she sniffed, “You’d better watch out. I could get accustomed to high-class living.”
She had yet to experience anything Jake would have called high-class. “You let me worry about that,” he said. “When do you get there?”
“Thursday evening. I spend most of Friday at the glass shop. I’d have to fly home Sunday morning.”
He did some rapid mental shuffling. “I can meet you at the inn late Friday afternoon. Are you home now? I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”
Quickly, before she could change her mind, he put down the receiver. Shaine wanted to go to bed with him. For thirty-six hours he’d have her to himself. No gossipy neighbors, no brothers, no son. Just himself and Shaine and a shared bed.
His mouth stretched in a broad smile, Jake looked up a number on his Palm Pilot, dialed and switched effortlessly to French. Four minutes later the phone was ringing in Shaine’s kitchen. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.
“All set.” He gave her the address and room number, and told her they’d be expecting her on Thursday. “Your meals are included, they have two restaurants that are both excellent.”
“I’m not doing this because I want another holiday in a fancy hotel,” she said with a touch of desperation. “I’m not using you, Jake—that’s not what it’s about.”
“For Pete’s sake, Shaine, I know you better than that,” Jake said, and found himself wondering what it was about. Shaine being Shaine, he’d no doubt find out on the weekend. “I’ve got to go, I’m flying out in a couple of hours. I’ll see you Friday in time for dinner…and Shaine—thanks.”
Shaine made an indecipherable noise and put down the receiver. She’d done it. Taken control.
Well, sort of. On other trips to Montreal, she’d walked past L’Auberge de Jean-Pierre on her wanderings around the old town, and wistfully wished she could afford even a snack inside. Now, because Jake was rich, she was going to stay there.
A wild weekend. She deserved one, didn’t she? What was the harm? She was thirty-one years old and she’d lived responsibly for far too long. One weekend wouldn’t hurt.
After all, she wasn’t in love with Jake. She was never going to risk falling in love with him again. But he had some kind of hold over her; her series of impulsive snapshots showed that. If she went to bed with him, she’d get him out of her system.
Yes, that’s what would happen, she thought blithely, and with a shiver of anticipation remembered the ecru nightgown she’d bought in New York.
He’d like it. She was as certain of that as she was of the tides in the bay.
At six-thirty on Friday Jake arrived at the inn; he was later than he’d planned, because he’d stopped at the airport to make a phone call to the glass shop before it closed.
He looked around appreciatively. The inn’s antiques were the real thing, its carpets, although worn, were genuine Aubusson, and the service was impeccable. “Madame is waiting for you in the cocktail lounge,” the concierge said. “I’ll see that your bags are delivered to your room, m’sieur.”
Jake slipped a bill into his hand, and headed for the lounge. A woman in a sliver of black dress was perched on a stool at the counter; her legs in sheer black hose seemed to go on forever. As he walked toward her over the stone floor, her red hair shot fire under the soft lighting. He lifted her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. Her fingers were cold. “Hello, Shaine,” he said softly. “Finish your drink and we’ll go upstairs. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I know it’s what I want.”
She tossed back the last of her red wine and stood up in a single graceful movement. She was taller than usual. “Nice shoes,” he added, admiring the turn of her ankle above slender black stilettos.
She glanced around the mahogany-paneled luxury of their surroundings; no one was in earshot. “From the consignment store,” she said.
“Our secret. The dress?”
“I made it. I didn’t have to buy much fabric.”
Her arms were bare and the dress dipped in the back. His mouth dry, Jake said, “A hundred and one ways to save money?”
“I could write the book. How was California?”
“A million miles away,” he said, and watched an enchanting flush spread over her cheeks. With his hand at her back, they left the bar and took the polished brass elevator to the top floor, where he’d reserved the inn’s only suite. As she slipped her key into the lock and stepped inside, she said, “The flowers are beautiful, thank you, Jake…I only wish I could take them home with me.”
He’d ordered flowers to be there when she arrived, dusky red roses for the living room and a pure white orchid in full bloom for the bedroom. Locking the door behind him, he threw his jacket over the leather couch, tugged his tie off and said, “This time, I’ve brought protection. Come here, Shaine.”
“And I went to see Doc,” she announced. She looked as edgy and high-strung as a racehorse about to bolt from the starting gate. “I’ve done this before with you. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
“It matters, what we do here this weekend—that’s why you’re nervous.”
“It’s a wild weekend,” she retorted. “Not a trip to the altar.”
And if that wasn’t a challenge, he didn’t know what was. As he kicked off his shoes, Shaine said edgily, “I won’t be a minute.” She grabbed a ribboned bag from the bureau drawer and disappeared into the bathroom. Jake peeled off his socks and waited.
Then the door opened and Shaine walked toward him. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Her nightgown shimmered and rippled in the light, flowing over her waist and hips, clinging to her thighs. He could see the jut of her nipples, the tilt of her breasts, and felt his groin harden. He said at random, “You didn’t buy that in Cranberry Cove.”
“New York,” she replied, and with a sudden impish grin added, “Do you like it?”
His answer was to pick her up in his arms, cradling her, the fabric slithering seductively against his wrists. Carrying her into the velvet-draped bedroom, he laid her down on the bed. Light from the other room bathed her in gold. Sitting beside her, he stroked first the arch of one foot and then the other.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
“No rush,” he said lazily, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it over a chair. Very gently he eased the nightgown up, smoothing her inner thighs, his hands always moving imperceptibly upward. She moaned his name, her eyes dark pools of desire, he
r hips seeking out his touch. When he found the juncture of her thighs, he knelt on the bed beside her and touched her with exquisite control until she was writhing beneath his fingers, her sobs of breath like music to his ears. Then she broke, crying out in fierce pleasure as he brought her to fulfillment.
When she could speak, she gasped, “How did that happen? I’m the one who’s supposed to be seducing you.”
He unbuckled his belt and let his suit trousers slide to the floor. “You are,” he said. Catching his mood, she sat up and with sensuous slowness lifted her gown over her head; her skin gleamed like ivory silk and the scent of her perfume drifted to his nostrils. The fragrance of flowers, he thought, colorful and passionate like Shaine herself.
Then she reached for his shoulders and drew him closer until her breasts were brushing the hard wall of his torso. He said jaggedly, “There’s never been a woman as beautiful as you,” and dropped his head into the shadowed valley between her breasts.
Unerringly he found their peaks, teasing them with his fingertips; then he cupped each sweet, firm rise in his palms. He could feel the hammering of her heartbeat against his flesh, an intimacy that bound him all the more closely to her; with deliberate leisure he brushed his lips over her nipples until, once again, she was moving frantically against him. “Now,” she begged. “Jake, please…now.”
Swiftly ridding himself of his underwear, he pushed her back into the pillows, lying on top of her, pressing into the heated, moist readiness between her thighs. Then he swooped to plunder her mouth, heat streaking through his veins.
Deep inside, Shaine felt the tension mount to an unbearable peak. Her whole body shuddering with need, she wrapped her fingers around his silken hardness and with primitive pride watched his face convulse. Lost to everything but the moment, she felt as if all the hues of the rainbow were surrounding her in glorious shafts of color. And it was Jake who had brought her to that place.
She’d never wanted anyone as she wanted him. Never. Whimpering with hunger, she arched her hips to gather him in.
But even then, although his body was screaming for release, Jake held back. Wanting to give her all the pleasure he was capable of, he rubbed himself against her, bringing her powerfully and inexorably to climax.
She said helplessly, her breasts rising and falling with the intensity of her breathing, “You did it again.”
“So I did,” he said, took her hand and drew it slowly down his body.
“It’s my turn now,” she said, reached up and kissed him, her tongue plunging to meet his.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, knowing dimly that he was holding the whole world in his embrace, Jake rolled to lie on his side. They were face-to-face, so he could see every change of expression as it flitted across her features. With a candor that charmed him, she said, “I like what we’re doing. Your body’s so beautiful, Jake. We fit, don’t we? Perfectly.”
“Of course we do,” he said, and nipped her lip between his teeth, his fingers buried in the flame of her hair.
She skimmed his rib cage with tantalizing delicacy, savoring every nuance of bone and muscle. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of his skin, familiar in a way that almost frightened her, wholly masculine. He was male to her female, she thought, her eyes glittering. Her mate.
Gesture followed naturally from gesture, arousal from arousal, as Shaine slid the length of his body, tasting him, teasing him with mouth and hands. Then Jake crushed her in his arms, his breath heated on her bare shoulder. “I can’t wait any longer,” he rasped. As she clasped his hips and opened to him, welcoming him with all her heart, he drove deep into her body.
Her own breath ravaging her breast, she enclosed him. He could feel her inner throbbing even as he watched the storm gather in her face; and could no longer withstand his own body’s torment. Thrusting again and again, he broke within her even as she also broke. His sweat-slicked forehead dropped to her breast; heartbeat mingled with heartbeat, then gradually slowed.
When he thought he could trust his voice, Jake said, “You’ve finished me off, woman.”
She gave a rich, throaty chuckle. “Have I? I’m kind of out of practice.”
He was glad to hear it. Fiercely, possessively glad. Hugging her to his chest, he muttered, “I hate to say this, but I’m hungry. I think I forgot to have lunch.”
“I want chocolate éclairs and fresh strawberries,” Shaine said. “I already checked the menu.”
“Nothing else?”
“Oh, maybe a steak or two.”
He felt a wash of such tenderness that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “You can have whatever you want,” he said unsteadily.
She threw back her head, her laughter a silvery cascade of sound. “One way or another, I always seem to have fun with you.”
Her face was that of a woman who has been well and truly loved. As she sat up, stretching with unconscious grace, her belly concave beneath the wings of her rib cage, he said, “Keep that up and we’ll never make it for dinner.”
She slid from the bed, her eyes full of mischief. “I’d hate for them to run out of dessert before we get there.”
“And we do have all night,” Jake said. “We could go dancing after dinner, there’s a blues band playing in the lounge. And this time I can hold you as close as I want to.”
Standing proud in her nakedness, she whispered, “Then we could come back to bed.”
He surged to his feet, pulling her hips into his, his gaze ranging the swollen, seductive softness of her mouth. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said roughly; and saw with brief unease the way her eyelids dropped to hide her expression.
“I’m sure by Sunday morning you’ll have changed your mind,” she said, and headed purposely for the bathroom, where she’d left her clothes.
Picking up his trousers, he said, “I don’t think so. I may be in this for the long haul, Shaine.”
“Jake,” she said forcefully, “this is about here and now, about the two of us enjoying each other. I don’t even want to think about tomorrow, let alone a week from now.”
She looked very adamant. Another challenge, thought Jake.
If there was one thing he’d learned in the last thirteen years, it was the value, every now and then, of the indirect approach. She was indeed like a high-bred racehorse: not for the faint of heart. He could bide his time. “You just want those chocolate éclairs,” he said agreeably, and saw relief flutter over her features.
“A woman of simple tastes, that’s me—dynamite sex and whipped cream.”
We didn’t have sex. We made love.
And where had those words come from? Jake gave her an enigmatic smile before she disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed.
The dining room wouldn’t have been out of place in the palace of Versailles. Shaine walked to their table as if she’d been frequenting such elegance all her life; then, as they sat, gave him a wicked grin. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of this,” she said, picked up the heavy parchment menu and ran her eyes down the appetizers. “I want one of everything,” she said, “how am I ever going to decide?”
“Why don’t you start with dessert and work backward?”
“Good idea.”
The wild mushroom soup was delicious, the steak tender, the salad crisp and tangy, and the éclairs a deadly combination of smooth chocolate, fluffy cream and flaky crust. Shaine ran her tongue over her lips and sat back with a sigh. “Luscious,” she said. “If I had room, I’d start all over again.”
She’d missed a tiny blob of cream at the corner of her mouth: her luscious, to use her word, and infinitely kissable mouth. Jake stared at the cream. He was in love with her, he thought, stunned. In love with Shaine. Of course he was, it had been staring him in the face ever since she’d fainted in his arms in her shop.
His mind made another leap. He’d never stopped loving her. That was why he’d not once been tempted to live with another woman, let alone marry her. All along, Shaine had been the woman
in his life, the only one who was his match. His soul mate.
She said pertly, “What’s the matter? Have I got chocolate on my chin?”
He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. He wanted to marry her. Live with her day by day, share decisions, joy and sorrow, laughter and tears. Be a father to Daniel. And, perhaps, to another child, this one the fruit of a committed love.
The words were out before he could stop them. “Have you ever thought about having another baby?”
She blinked, her fingers tightening around her fork. “As a single mother? Nope.”
“What if you were married?”
“I’m not going to marry. End of discussion. Do you think if I had coffee, I’d be awake all night?”
She didn’t have a clue what was going on inside him. Nor, if he were half as smart as everyone said he was, should he enlighten her. Abruptly he was seized with the terrifying thought that Shaine might never fall in love with him. What would he do then?
Striving desperately for some kind of normality, Jake said, “Order an espresso—I’m planning on keeping you awake all night anyway.”
“Are you all right? You look kind of funny,” she said dubiously.
With relief, he spoke the truth. “I’m just happy to be here with you, Shaine.”
How could he not be, when he was head over heels in love with her?
Jake bided his time all weekend, his body saying what he wasn’t yet prepared to put into words. They ate, drank, danced, wandered the cobblestone streets hand in hand, and window-shopped. They laughed a lot, in bed and out. Because, of course, the other thing they did was spend hours in bed, and very little of it sleeping.
Shaine’s new nightgown didn’t get a lot of wear.
And then, all too soon, it was Sunday morning. Jake woke early. Propping himself up on one elbow, he ran his eyes over Shaine’s sleeping face, his heart turning over with love. Before he left this morning, he had to know when he was going to see her again.
As though she sensed him watching her, she stretched, yawned and opened her eyes. “Good morning,” she said sleepily.