The Diva Diaries
Page 6
“How about something to eat,” he suggested as she let go of him, her face showing that she recognized the change in him. Hell, he couldn’t help it. His ex-wife had shredded his heart, leaving him with an empty bed and an empty house.
He wanted to fill both with a woman who would stick around. It was the one thing that Jenna was not.
For hours she made her way through the room, deftly avoiding the spot where he was standing. She conversed with almost everyone. He watched her and still he wanted her. His own behavior unnerved him. His eyes followed her every move, and he felt this pull he couldn’t identify, wasn’t sure he wanted to identify. He wasn’t accustomed to being irresistibly drawn to what he knew wasn’t good for him and he didn’t like it.
The orchestra was playing a heartrending tune that made him shift uncomfortably. The soft sounds seemed to intensify the foreboding that had been plaguing him all evening.
He’d screwed up royally by kissing her, he confessed. He was uncomfortable with the acknowledgment, and even more uncomfortable with the panic that welled up inside him at the thought. He’d never been this crazy about a woman before.
In the past twenty minutes of watching her, he was convinced she looked fatigued, something she was trying to hide. Maybe it was because he knew her a little bit better, albeit a couple days more, than these people. He wouldn’t ever admit that he wanted to get to know her on a deeper level, a more intimate level. After she stumbled slightly, that was it. He moved from his spot and approached her. Taking her elbow, he said, “Say good-night.”
She turned to look up at him. “I’m fine. It’s still early.”
“It’s past midnight, Jenna.”
“It is?”
“Yes, so say good-night. You’re exhausted.”
A group of students was moving in her direction. The same group that had managed to monopolize most of her time that night.
“Tell them you’re leaving.”
“I don’t want to disappoint them. I can stay another half an hour.”
He sighed, something stabbing at his heart. He looked at the eager faces of the students and saw what she saw. Their awe, their hopes and dreams. It was all there on their faces. That she recognized it surprised him. That she cared shocked him for a moment. He hadn’t expected that Jenna would care about anyone but herself, just as he’d expected her to sleep until noon and demand attendance by servants. How much else could he be wrong about?
He touched her arm. “You have that workshop and another concert. You’ll have a chance to answer all their questions. Besides, I’m beat, too.”
She stared at him. “You are? Of course, you are. What was I thinking? Just let me thank the Savannah College president and I’ll be ready to leave.”
Back in his truck the night streamed by as he drove them home. When he glanced over at Jenna, she had her eyes closed and her head lolled. She was tired, but it’d taken her another fifteen minutes to get out of the ballroom. Then she’d been stopped in the lobby by some of the townspeople to sign autographs, which took another fifteen minutes. Now it was past one and he was beginning to feel the fatigue across the back of his shoulders and deep in his muscles.
The problem was he’d have to be up at the crack of dawn to attend to the ranch chores. If he didn’t clear some of the paperwork off his desk, he was going to be swimming in it up to his knees.
JENNA CAME TO with a start and realized it was because Sam had opened her door. She peered at him in the dim light.
“Come on, sleepyhead.”
She rose and got as far as the running board before the blood rushing to her brain made her unsteady. With a soft cry, she wobbled forward only to be caught by two warm, strong hands at her waist. Still fighting for balance, she put out her hands and connected with his broad shoulders. She could feel the hard strength in him coiled and held in check in case she fell, but she didn’t. He was a rock.
His hands tightened at her waist and the muscles bunched in his shoulders, making her stomach flutter at the power-packed flesh beneath her hands.
“One would think you weren’t able to get into and out of a vehicle without help,” he said with amusement.
“This truck is way too tall,” she groused.
“Right, much taller than limos, I’m sure.”
Her fuzzy brain couldn’t get around that. Limos? She took taxis mostly to get where she wanted to go. Sure, sometimes she rode in a limo, but that wasn’t the norm. She lost her train of thought as she looked down into his eyes, reflecting a thousand stars overhead. The inky, glittering beauty took her breath away.
Then she looked up into the heavens and gasped. The stars were so many and so bright. Living in the city, she hadn’t realized how brilliant they shone. The movement of her head caused her to wobble again and he lifted her off the running board as gently and as easily as a dust mote.
“Let’s get you down from there before you fall,” he said with a flashing grin of white teeth.
“Right into your arms?” Her blood roaring in her ears, she grinned back at him and felt a zing of danger. It settled into the pit of her stomach and tingled there. She liked the tingle.
Even though her feet hit the ground, his hands lingered at her waist. She liked that, too. He moved one big hand up and she thought that his hands looked too elegant for a rancher. He looked like he belonged in her world, playing the piano or holding the thin wood of a baton.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he said, his voice harsh and low, his thumb moving in a slow circle around her throat.
“Neither would I. I bet you’re real good at catching people,” she whispered. His light touch was magic, her nipples hardening beneath the flimsy material of her dress.
“Do you need catching?” Layers of meaning shaded his measured syllables. He cupped her neck.
“Maybe you should ask if I want to be caught.”
The night wind lifted the leaves of the cedars, shades of gray off to her left. She could hear the whisper of wings on the air as night owls hunted for their prey. The shimmer of stars were gone from his eyes, but were replaced by a gleam that was so much more tantalizing the longer she plumbed the depths of his gaze.
She could imagine they were in some other place where he could lay her down and stroke her softly, endlessly until she whimpered and her eyes widened with need. Where she could see every nuance of his face, every pleasure-filled expression, see the light in those eyes burn brighter, hotter.
And then in that bright, clean place, he would burn inside her.
“Do you want to be caught?” he asked, tilting her face up to his.
“Maybe. Temporarily.”
“Temporary suits me.”
“It would have to, because my life is my music.” She leaned into his touch. She knew what she should do, but his warmth was too enticing and she’d gone so long without that warmth.
He closed his eyes when her face moved insistently against his palm. “Music can’t catch you.”
“Sure it can, it always has. It always will.”
He stilled, looking deeply into her eyes. “This is a warning?”
She realized it was. A warning that no matter what happened, music would have to come first. She knew when she was very young that she had to choose. Her gran had chosen love, but her mother had chosen music. Jenna would, too. It made her squirm inside to realize in that respect she was just like her mother. But the difference between them was that Jenna wouldn’t use people. Her mother was a user. She manipulated and cajoled. Jenna preferred to take the straight tack. Even if it meant a head-on collision.
“When I have sex with a man, I like for him to know what I’m about.”
“Are we going to have sex?”
“Every time you look at me, Sam, I feel ravished.”
He groaned softly, leaning closer to her. He lowered his head. She lifted her chin. His mouth found hers, soft and willing.
She didn’t mean for him to kiss her, not when she was strung-out with too little sleep an
d too much postconcert adrenaline jazzing up her insides, not when her guard was down and her hunger so powerful.
She kissed him back, tasting the answering hunger that had him driving her fast into passion, yet not fast enough for the hunger spiraling inside her.
Slanting his mouth across hers, he tugged at her lower lip, opening her mouth and deepening the kiss, tongue to tongue, stroking the innermost places.
She opened for him, his mouth warm and welcoming, inviting the sweep of his tongue.
She’d thought she’d only whimper with need.
Instead, his touch made her twist restlessly against him, one knee sliding up the side of his thigh, and he cupped her, pulling her into his rhythm, pulse to pulse in urgent, tearing need in the night.
And she found that this, after all, was what she wanted.
Him, against her, pushing her with each light touch of his hand. Her tucking her fingers into his waistband and dislodging his shirt as she brushed her knuckles against him, drowning in mindless dangerous sensation.
Jenna clung to him as if the world ended and began with Sam Winchester, exploded and recreated itself in his touch on her, hers on him.
She sighed in delight as Sam impatiently hooked his thumb into the silky material covering her breast and pulled the material away from her throbbing nipple.
Pushing her against the truck, he used his other hand to shift the material up her legs until he could cradle himself in the vee of her legs, flush against her groin. He rocked his hips at the same time his hot, wet mouth engulfed her straining nipple. And he made her ache to have his touch on her, in her. Where he thrust, she yielded; where she retreated, he followed in a dance as old as time, as new as innocence.
Running her fingertips up the thick, well-defined muscles of his ribs, she flattened her hand against his skin. He buried his groan in the curve of her breast, his breath hot against her as he nipped the tip and held it between his teeth, the delicate pain trembling through her in an unending wave of shivers.
“Oh God, Jenna,” he muttered against her breast, pulling her tight against him, taking her shivers and blending them with his shuddering response to the feel of her fingers. “I want you. God help me, but I want you so much it’s killing me. Every time I touch you…”
And he took her mouth, gripping the sides of her head between his hands while the rough material of his jacket shot ripples of pleasure through her charged system. She lost all sense of anything except the drumming of her body against his, or his against hers—she no longer knew which. His flesh, hers, intertwined, humming with shared energy, both of them captive to that strumming beat.
She pulled her hand from his shirt and cupped him through the trousers he wore. He gasped against her, losing the measured rhythm of the kiss. She loved knowing his control was unraveling.
With his breath harsh and his lungs pumping, he pushed against her hand in a mindless slide. Another low groan rumbled in his chest.
Somewhere in the deep recess of her mind where memories lived, she must have known this bliss of skin on skin and a man’s dark, stubbled face against hers, this yielding to the mellifluous flow tingling through her.
But if her mind held such a memory, how could she have forgotten the experience? How would she have been able to separate herself from the thrilling buzz along her skin, the yearning to get beyond the silken barrier of skin to the core that beckoned?
Fear, like ice water, flooded her veins and she let go of him. Cupping his face, she brought it up to her. “You understand what this would be, right?”
He looked at her, confused, his eyes glazed. Her heart turned over. He looked so vulnerable she didn’t want to say the words, but they had to be said. She couldn’t have him believing there could be anything more. She couldn’t bear to hurt him.
His eyes cleared and she smiled at the slash of wicked danger in the night.
“Sex, darlin’. Just sex. Is that what you want to hear?”
He drew away and tucked in his shirt and she wondered if he needed something to do with his hands so he wouldn’t reach for her again.
“That’s right. Not love, not friendship. Lust, sex, getting our groove on. Whatever you want to call it.”
Jenna saw him retreat and part of her wanted to cry, but he had to be on the same page as she was. Her gran had wanted Jenna to read the diary to discover that this kind of passion was possible. Jenna realized now she’d found it, here in Sam’s arms. She wanted it with him, but it had to be on her terms. He would have to agree.
“Damn, Jenna, you know how to kill the moment.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll still respect you in the morning,” she jeered, knowing that she would do more than that, but she couldn’t let on.
His melting smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “That makes it easy on me. Temporary sex with a fancy city gal suits me just fine.” His words were tough and struck hard, but she didn’t buy them. The sound of his impassioned voice when he’d told her he wanted her made her heart tighten with an ache she’d never experienced before. He was using them as a defense mechanism. It was something she understood and accepted.
“That’s all I can give.”
“Tell you what, darlin’, since you’re trying so hard to convince me, why don’t you decide when and where and let me know?”
She rearranged her dress just as she heard the scuff of boots on gravel.
“Sam. That you?”
Sam bent down, retrieved his Stetson and jammed it on his head. “Yeah, what is it, Tooter?”
She could hear the frustration in his voice.
“Just wanted to tell you it looks like the calving started, too. Black Beauty dropped a fine, strapping fella.”
“Thanks, Tooter. Let’s go have a look.” He grabbed Jenna’s elbow and escorted her none too gently to the house. “I reckon you can make it from here.”
She lifted her chin. “I reckon I can.”
He was the kind of man who wasn’t down for long. She could see it in the set of his broad shoulders. As easy and as lazy as a long, hot summer day, that smile had returned and, with it, a healthy dose of trouble.
“We’re straight, city gal. But before you lay that pretty head down on your pillow tonight, why don’t you think about the reason you’re trying so hard not to like me?”
“I’m not trying that hard.”
He laughed and she couldn’t help herself, she was charmed down to her toes. Damn him, she wanted to kiss that laughing mouth.
So she did. Just grabbed the back of his neck, angled her head under the hat and kissed his startled mouth. Then she looked him in the eye. “Mmm, you are starting to grow on me,” she said, before she licked her lips. She turned and sauntered into the house, smiling when she heard his very quiet, very fierce one-word epithet.
“Damn.”
She made her way up the dim staircase to her designated room. Going over to the window, she watched him walk to the barn with Tooter. She was a fool. She had to relegate Sam as a distraction, a nuisance. The diary was her primary concern. Here she’d been in his home for two days and she still hadn’t found even the desk, let alone the diary. Just when she thought she might have a chance to search the house, she saw Sam emerge from the barn. She stepped into the shadows, noticing how he glanced up at her window while he walked. Keep it light. Keep it shallow. She moved to the bed, weary and lonely. She’d just lie down for a moment and wait Sam out. He’d go to bed soon and when he did, she’d look for the diary. A sudden, desperate need to find her grandmother’s legacy gripped her.
Her gran had talked about love and about time running out. For Jenna, her time ran out the moment she’d picked up the bow and dragged it across the strings of the violin.
A dedicated musician couldn’t have both a loving family and a successful career. Her own family was proof enough.
Nope, she didn’t want to get in over her head with Sam.
So why did it feel as if she were already drowning?
5
She let herself drift and when she next opened her eyes, she saw that it was six o’clock. Pushing out from under the covers, she realized that she’d fallen asleep last night while waiting for Sam to do the same. She promised herself that today there’d be no more distractions. Jenna was no closer to discovering where Sam had placed her grandmother’s rolltop desk than she was when she’d first arrived three days ago.
She stretched and reached back to unzip her dress, but the zipper caught and, no matter how she tugged, she couldn’t get it free.
She slipped off the edge of the bed and walked to the door, hoping that Maria might be nearby. Jenna peered into the hallway and saw Sam come out of his bedroom. When he saw her, he froze.
She closed her eyes in mortification when he started forward. “Jenna?”
“Could you…” Her voice trailed off.
“Could I what?” he asked, walking over to her, an intrigued look on his face.
Jenna turned, closing her eyes. The heat of him permeated her clothing. She smelled the muskiness of his skin. She felt his desire like a tangible force. She felt the power of it, sensed his barely controlled passion. And she wanted, as she’d never wanted before. Just to lean into him to take the burden of her own desire off her shoulders. Just to let it go and see where it led her. But she couldn’t, not now. She needed to have time alone to search his house. If she enticed him into her room, where would it lead? She could see herself spending the whole day in bed with this man.
She felt his hot breath against her ear. “What do you want, Jenna?” he whispered.
Her voice a hoarse rasp, she asked, “Could you please unzip my dress? I fell asleep with my clothes on last night. Now the zipper is caught.”