Mad About The Man

by Stella Cameron

  They danced as only lovers dance.

  Gaby looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted.

  But he wasn't smiling.

  I never expected this…

  She bit her lip. What hadn't he expected? To find a woman in little old Goldstrike who fitted him like a bespoke glove? To find what she knew he'd unearthed—what she'd found—a lover in tune with his wants, needs and desires before he knew them?

  Or was there an even more outrageous reason why he'd stopped himself from finishing what he'd started to say?

  Could she be feeling some of the same?

  Gaby watched his eyelids clench and something close to pain pass over his face, features so boldly carved that most would assume him an arrogant man who had to know how startlingly handsome he was.

  And most would never discover the complex mix of tough and tender that lay behind that saturnine face.

  Could they both be wondering if what they'd found might be more than a chemistry that made wonderful loving, wonderful sex? She turned her head away.

  "What are you thinking?"

  She jumped. "Nothing."

  He bowed her backward until she laughed and grabbed for him. When he pulled her to him once more, the intensity in his eyes reminded Gaby of her nakedness beneath the robe—and of Jacques's sleek muscles. In the moonlight, coming to her on black satin sheets, on his own oversized bed, his body had gleamed. And in the aftermath of their climax, he'd allowed her to stretch out his arms and legs and smooth him from head to foot. And when it was time—he rolled to his stomach and the process had begun again.

  Jacques's back was beautiful.

  "Come on," he whispered above her head now, swinging them both in a circle. "Let me into those thoughts."

  She pressed her lips to his naked chest where the robe parted. Sitting across his thighs in the silver light of slipping night, she'd brushed his back from shoulder to the twin dips at the base of his spine and over his hard buttocks.

  And then she'd smiled… touched him somewhere else… and shrieked when he'd wrestled her beneath him…

  "The devil made me do it!" she had yelled before his mouth closed out anything else she might have said.

  Jacques tugged her ear gently. "Gaby?"

  "Mmm?"

  "The mimosas aren't all that's getting warm."

  "Is the sun up?"

  "It's been up"

  She smiled into the hair on his chest. "Oh."

  "Gaby."

  Her smile broadened. "Mmm?"

  "The sun isn't all that's up."

  "Jacques!" Stepping away, she punched him playfully in the middle. "Shame on you. I thought you were a man of ideals. A man of vision."

  Pretending agony, he gripped his stomach and tottered to fall into a chair. "I am a man of vision. I've already told you about my visions. You're not going to believe this, but I'm having another one right now."

  As quickly as he'd laughed, the humor vanished from his face. "Come here." He patted his lap. "Right here."

  Heat washed from Gaby's feet to her face. Deep inside she felt the burning ache she could so easily come to need.

  "I want you, Gaby." She couldn't have refused Jacques took her hands and brought her to stand between his legs. "First I want to look at you."

  And he did look, for a long time, before hooking a hand behind her neck and pulling her face down to receive his slow, slow kiss. With the tip of his tongue, he outlined her mouth, then nipped her bottom lip gently and drew it between his teeth.

  Still holding the kiss, he moved and guided her to sit astride his lap. "Why do we work so well together, Gaby?"

  Startled, she raised her head. "I…" It wasn't such a strange question. "Lucky, I suppose. Maybe we should just enjoy it."

  "You, my girl, are very forward."

  She was not acting like herself. Tossing back her hair, she smiled into his eyes, navy-blue eyes—until the loving turned them deep, black-flecked indigo.

  Dropping his head against the back of the chair, he raised his brows. "I think it's your turn."

  Gaby understood.

  She crossed her arms and worked the robe down her shoulders until only the fullness of her breasts stopped it from falling to her waist.

  "Yeah," Jacques said, his voice deep and rough- edged. "Unwrap the package for me."

  The morning air no longer felt cool. A pulse beat beneath her skin, gathering speed as she slid her hands beneath the robe to cup and lift her breasts, to offer them to Jacques with the arching of her back, the rocking of her hips.

  Without holding her, he reached up and drew an erect nipple between his lips.

  Gaby caught fire. "Jacques!"

  "Yes, sweetheart, oh, yes."

  "I can't take it."

  In a single tug, the robe's sash hung loose and he smoothed her waist, her ribs and up to cover her breasts. "You can take it. We can both take it."

  Gaby's legs trembled. "I want this thing off you," she told him, working open the single garment left between them. When she looked down at him, blood rushed to beat at her temples and tender parts of her body swelled.

  "Are you sure you're ready for me?" He narrowed his eyes and ran his fingers through womanly hair. "I do believe you are."

  "Should we go to bed?" He shook his head. His grin was purely feral. "You mean—" Breathing hard, she indicated the sky and the hills. "You mean, out here?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "In front of the world?"

  "The thought appeals to me… again."

  His fingers shifted and Gaby squeezed her eyes shut.

  "D'you think you ought to make sure I'm ready?" Jacques said. Then he chuckled hoarsely. "You little puritan. You're blushing again. Do as you're told. Check everything out. "

  "I—can't think." Her pelvis jerked under his attention. She glanced down, over his beautifully defined chest, his flat stomach where black hair narrowed to a thin line, then flared again… and on to that which was so very ready.

  The spasm he evoked with such ease broke upon her. "Yes," she said through her teeth. "Yes." Jacques didn't have to help her. Gaby braced her hands on his chest, rose to her toes and sank, taking him inside her.

  Black satin sheets forever!

  Gaby luxuriated, stretched like a satisfied cat on the disarray that was Jacques's bed. The champagne and orange juice, her second, slid smoothly down her throat, leaving a tangy, bubbly taste on her tongue.

  Pleading fear for their strength, Jacques had left to forage in the kitchen for emergency rations of food. And he'd absolutely refused to allow her to help him.

  She could get really hooked on Jacques Ledan. The telephone on the fax machine beside the bed rang. Seconds passed before Gaby looked disinterestedly at the single sheet of paper that rolled out.

  The transmission ended.

  Fax machines didn't belong in the bedroom. She stretched again and rolled to her stomach. The good news was that the presence of this machine probably meant Jacques was used to being here alone. That shouldn't matter, but it did.

  Gaby looked down on the document that lay in the fax receiving tray.

  To: Jacques From: Bart

  Subject: Napoleon Paradise

  She turned her head away. Jacques's correspondence was none of her business.

  Napoleon Paradise?

  "Napoleon Paradise!" Gaby rose to her elbows. Everyone knew who that brilliant little eccentric was. Mr. Extravaganza himself, the recluse who lived on a private island in the south Pacific and created never- never land theme parks.

  With a stomach that churned horribly, Gaby started reading the fax:

  When he's ready, he's ready. If he says it's a go, the acreage starting at the old Odle place and covering the whole five-hundred-acre parcel will have to be clear-cut within a month. Then Napoleon will pay another visit. He says the leprechaun theme has "possibilities." Wants you to consider an adjoining hotel in conjunction with shuttle service to Tahoe. Thinks the gambling angle adds to sense of unreality. />
  Gaby dropped her forehead on her hands. No! There would be nothing left of Goldstrike by the time these maniacs finished.

  She raised her head and continued reading:

  He says he'll see you one week from yesterday, Saturday next. Be prepared for contract signing. He'll arrive in his own "amenities"—whatever that means, and will expect you to receive him at nine in the evening.

  This guy is a fruitcake. Only conducts business between nine at night and four in the morning.

  Almost forgot. Wear a tux! Napoleon says he is always "an event" worth dressing for.

  PS. Acknowledge this. Where the hell are you?

  Gaby heard approaching footsteps in the hall and pressed her face into the pillow. Be prepared for contract signing? And just like that a decision would be made that would change Goldstrike forever. Her mind raced in circles. What had passed between her and Jacques meant something, didn't it? Surely he'd be more willing to listen to her now.

  Perhaps he'd even change his mind completely… The door opened to Jacques's vocal attempt at "Music of the Night" from Phantom of the Opera.

  He had to change his mind. She would make him— somehow.

  "Gaby, love? Hungry?"

  She didn't move. Whatever happened, she must not let him know she'd seen the fax.

  "Sleepyhead," he murmured.

  Sounds of dishes clinking followed. Then the bed sank under his weight and he sat beside her.

  Gaby squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. He'd had this house a long time. Regardless of what Jacques intended to do in the area, he wouldn't suddenly stop coming here when the project was finished… would he?

  Her stomach turned again. Was that it? Had the motivation behind her opposition of the project changed? Did she fear the loss of Jacques more than the loss of Goldstrike?

  The crackle of paper almost stopped her heart.

  She held her breath.

  "Ass," she heard him mutter at last. Then the paper rustled again and he rested a hand between her shoulders. Very lightly Jacques caressed the line of her spine all the way to the point where the satin sheet barely covered her bottom. That's where he kissed her.

  The air rushed from her lungs, but she held still.

  Spreading his fingers, he spanned her waist and began to skim upward over her ribs—to the place where her breasts rested. Jacques feathered over that soft flesh until Gaby could be still no longer. She attempted to twist toward him. Jacques's response was to slip his hands beneath her breasts and lean to kiss the back of her neck.

  "You look good here," he said, nuzzling aside her hair. "Right."

  Gaby felt tears spring into her eyes. He could not know how certain innocent little phrases played with the heart.

  "Out in the hills—when I found you yesterday— you said I already knew you. What did you mean by that?"

  "Exactly what I said."

  Carefully, he turned her to her back. "I guess I'm missing something. I didn't know who you were until someone told me."

  "Yes you did." She met his eyes steadily. "I meant that I am what you see. I'm not what I do or where I've been or with whom."

  Jacques lifted her hands to his mouth, kissed each knuckle with absorption and stretched her arms above her head. "Don't you think where we've been and who we've been there with affects us as people?"

  "They may cause a few wrinkles in the wrappings. Inside we're still the same."

  The way he stroked the sensitive inner sides of her arms made Gaby flinch and breathe harder. Jacques, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, studied her face, her body. He suddenly smiled and dropped a kiss on her belly. "You're a deep woman, Gaby McGregor." Yet again his lips and fingers began to work their magic. She willed herself not to react.

  Abruptly he released her arms and swept her up into his embrace. "Would you like to take me for what I am, Gaby? And what I'm not?"

  The tension in his voice squeezed her heart. "Yes," she said simply, nestling—so naturally—into the warmth of his big body.

  "I'm glad. That would be a first."

  "People like you identify with things, Jacques. I don't. I don't want to know Jacques Ledan, multi-millionaire candy king. It's what's inside that counts."

  He became absolutely still. "Why do I almost believe you?"

  She bit back the anger that surged. "Because it's true. Not everyone is in love with wealth and everything that comes with it." This wasn't the time to explain that she could have lived—could still live— the so-called good life. "I'd like you just as much if you were… a farmer or a man struggling with some little business. You'd still be you."

  "Would I?" He put her gently from him, pulled the pillows up behind her head. "That's a unique thought. I may have to work it through. I brought coffee and sandwiches."

  Settling herself, but unable to relax, Gaby tucked the top sheet up to her armpits. "Jacques." There might never be a better time. "Could we talk about Goldstrike?"

  He paused in the act of pouring coffee. "If you like. Cream and sugar?"

  "No, thanks. Some of what you propose may have very positive results."

  "I'm glad you approve."

  His sarcasm stung. "You said you would discuss this."

  "And I am." He gave her a mug, put a plate of sandwiches on the bed and sat in a chair.

  With her eyes on the coffee in her mug, Gaby took several slow sips. "Would you be prepared to consider some compromises?"

  He stared at her. "I always listen to reasonable people's opinions."

  Unfortunately she hadn't prepared for this opportunity. Whatever argument she came up with would be grabbed from the air. "My idea is that you meet with a delegation of residents to talk over what is or isn't acceptable." She almost winced at the dictatorial note in her own voice.

  After several seconds he slipped lower in the chair and stretched out his legs. "I won't be told what to do, Gaby. I'm putting a lot of money into this. And my motives are good, I assure you. The best. Sometimes people are too emotional to see what's advantageous for them."

  "But you never are?" She sat up and pushed her mug onto the bedside table. "I think you're arrogant, Jacques. You decide what other people want and need then set about persuading them you're right."

  "Calm down."

  "Calm…" She seethed. "Would you mind leaving the room. I'd like to get dressed."

  "Women!" He looked at the ceiling.

  Gaby could barely contain herself. "I'll let that pass. Please do as I ask. I've got to get Vi back."

  "You called and said you'd be keeping her until this evening."

  "I've changed my mind."

  He got to his feet, picked up her mug and pressed it back into her hands. "When does Mae get back?"

  "Late tonight."

  "Char Brown is a sort of substitute grandmother, isn't she?"

  Gaby glared at him. "Yes."

  "Good."

  Furious that he could be so calm, she continued drinking her coffee.

  "Aren't you going to ask me why it's good?"

  She shook her head.

  "Because we're going to need plenty of opportunities to be together."

  "You… You are so pig-headed"

  "Are you saying you don't want to make love on the grass again and against a tree and on a terrace and in my bed… and on a horse?"

  Gaby sputtered and coughed. "We didn't make love on a horse."

  "Exactly. We've got something to look forward to."

  Despite her ire, Gaby smiled into her cup. "What an impossible man."

  "What a maddening little hatter," Jacques said quietly. "And I really do like you for exactly what you are. If you want me to speak with some of the residents, I'll be happy to do that."

  She turned a brilliant grin on him. "You will? Oh, thank you, Jacques. I know how much it will mean to them to discover you really care about their opinions."

  "I do care about their opinions. I always have. I care about them. That's why I started all this in the first place."

&
nbsp; The temptation was to say that he'd long ago stopped putting the needs and wants of the community first. "I'll arrange a meeting."

  "Fine. We'll get to it when we can."

  Gaby's eyes went to the pocket of his sweats where the folded fax was visible. "This is asking a lot. But could you hold off on starting anything major until after we've had the talk?"

  His eyes moved from hers. "We can try."

  "You won't regret it, Jacques." Thinking rapidly, she passed her tongue over dry lips. "Saturday nights are pretty quiet around here. People are usually available. I'll set something up for next Saturday evening, if that's okay with you?"

  "Saturday?" He started to nod, then narrowed his eyes and rested a hand on his pocket. "No. Not Saturday."

  She swallowed. "That's too bad. Got to go back to civilization and see to business?"

  "Yes… no." Jacques cracked a tight smile. "I just remembered that's the night I promised my folks I'd talk to them. They live in the south of France and they're always so busy I have to make an appointment to get on their schedule."

  "Will talking to them take all night?" Bit by bit she felt the intimacy they'd built dissolve. "We could make it later. Say nine?"

  "I can't be sure we'll be through."

  "Ten."

  "We might not be finished." He stood. "Look, why don't we work this out later. For the following Saturday, perhaps?"

  By which time the command performance with Napoleon Paradise would have taken place and, quite possibly, the kind of contract signed that would be almost impossible to scuttle.

  "D'you think that would work out for your people?"

  Her people. Not the people he was so concerned about that he was dragging them into his "progress" whether they liked it or not.

  "Gaby?"

  She looked into his eyes and read anxiety there. "That'll probably be fine." Did he think she couldn't figure out that they'd found something pretty rare, even if it was only physical—at least on his side—and that he didn't want to jeopardize that? "Yes. I'll see what I can do."

  "Great!" He set down his mug and took hers away.

  "Mmm. Great," Gaby agreed.

  And his arms and body, enfolding her once more, felt wonderful. Damn it, but she wanted him, would continue to want him and with a whole lot more than that part of her that caught fire when he touched her— looked at her, even.