JACOB'S PROPOSAL

by Eileen Wilks

  There was a path. It was fully dark now, but tiny white lights were strung along the border of a trail coyly graveled to look almost natural. The path wandered off into the woods, and they went with it.

  Jacob's arm around her shoulders was firm, but not suggestive. He was offering comfort and support, not seduction. And heat was pooling in her belly, a thick languor that built, pulse by pulse, step by step as the trees closed around them. He was solid and strong. Mixed with the green odor of pine and damp earth, she thought she could smell him – a faint, rich, masculine scent.

  She should pull away. She wasn't so shaken by the encounter with Sue Lawrence that she needed his arm for support. Sue's rancor had been unpleasant, but nothing new.

  In a moment she would move away. In just another moment.

  The sounds of the party faded behind them, muffled by trunks, leaves and the stony ground of the path that wound downward, away from the house at the top of the hill. Overhead was darkness, the stars and moon shrouded by the tree limbs arching above them. At Claire's feet those tiny lights beckoned. Fairy lights.

  Weren't fairy lights supposed to be dangerous? Glowing, witchy promises that tempted mortals beyond safe boundaries, luring the foolish into realms where sense and order couldn't follow.

  She shivered.

  "Cold?"

  "No." She regretted her quick, too-honest answer, and at last managed to pull away. This time he didn't try to stop her. "It's just reaction."

  His voice was tight, as if he were still exerting control over emotions she couldn't guess. "I didn't know the Lawrences would be here."

  "How could you have? I doubt Murchison presented you with a guest list."

  "I should have considered the possibility. I don't make a habit of being unprepared. Were there other lovers?"

  "What?" Her feet stopped as she gaped at him.

  "When you were with Lawrence, did you have other lovers? Or was it all a product of his delusions?"

  The hurt was sharper than it should have been. Her eyes alarmed her by stinging, and she started walking again, as quickly as she could in heels on the unlevel path. "I thought you were being kind, taking me away from that scene. I didn't realize you just wanted to interrogate me privately."

  "I'm not a kind man."

  Wasn't he? He'd stood beside her while Sue Lawrence spilled her usual assortment of threats and blame and garbage. Why, if he thought Sue was telling the truth?

  He kept pace with her easily enough and, for the moment, in silence. From somewhere up ahead came the quiet gurgle of water chuckling to itself.

  "Why did you let Sue Lawrence speak to you that way?" he asked.

  "At what point did you think I had a choice?"

  "You were gentle with her."

  The prick of memory or guilt made her speak sharply. "Her son's crazy. She's entitled to feel bad about that. I may not like the way she goes about venting her feelings, but she can't really hurt me."

  "Then why were you shaking?"

  Damn him for noticing. "Repressed temper."

  "No. You were upset."

  "I'm getting upset all over again. None of this is any of your business, except to the extent that it affects you because you brought me here. Not," she added pointedly, "that I wanted you to."

  "I wondered how long it would take for you to mention that."

  "Would you have insisted I come with you if you'd known the Lawrences would be here?"

  "Possibly. At least I could have made an informed decision. I don't intend to be caught unprepared again, which is why I'm asking you questions you don't want to answer. Just how crazy is Ken Lawrence?"

  She in tended to just keep walking, but a piece of gravel turned beneath her foot, throwing her off balance. He was there, steadying her with a hand on her elbow.

  He could have turned it into an excuse for an embrace. He didn't. And she was furious to discover a twinge of disappointment. "I tell you what. I'll answer your questions if you'll answer mine, one for one. I'll go first."

  There was enough fairy light for her to see his slight smile. "All right. What do you want to know?"

  "What does it matter to you whether I was faithful to Ken, or cheated on him four times a night?"

  He was silent a moment too long. "I want to know if you'll be faithful to me after I take you to bed."

  "Arrogant, aren't you?" Her heart pounded too hard. With fear? She turned and started to move away.

  He stopped her, clasping her shoulder firmly.

  "I told you to keep your hands to yourself. I meant it."

  His voice was cool and unmoved. His hand, too, remained unmoved – but not cool. "We're at the end of the path. Unless you want to go wading, you need to stop here."

  She blinked. Right in front of her, no more than a couple of steps away, was the water she'd heard, a merry trickle of a stream borne of the heavy rains they'd had lately.

  "I answered your question," he said. "Now it's my turn. Were you faithful to Lawrence?"

  "I could say yes, but why would you believe me?"

  "Why would you lie? The woman depicted by the media wouldn't bother to, not over this. She would be proud of her ability to captivate any number of men."

  "I'm not the woman I was six years ago."

  "That doesn't answer my question."

  For a moment, pain rose from the past to swamp the present, hard and blinding, just as it had been during those dark days when she'd lost the casual certainty that was innocence, one betrayal at a time. "We were going to be married." Her voice echoed the bewilderment she'd felt so long ago. "Of course I was faithful."

  "Lawrence's jealousy was wholly irrational, then."

  He made it a statement, not a question. Maybe that was why she didn't notice him moving closer until he stopped, his hand still on her shoulder, his body inches from hers.

  Jacob's expression was always hard to read. With his face underlit by the faint glow from the fairy lights, he looked utterly mysterious. Unknowable, almost sinister. "I – I liked to flirt," she said. "I liked men, but I never – I would never … he knew that. I could have sworn he knew that when he asked me to marry him." Pain and the past both had to be swallowed so she could steady her voice. "That was your second question. You owe me one."

  He reached up and cupped her other shoulder. "Ask."

  She opened her mouth – and closed it again. Questions flew through her mind, quick and small, massive and important. All dangerous. Questions opened doors, and suddenly she didn't want any more doors open between herself and this man. She shook her head.

  "How sick is Lawrence?"

  "It's not your turn to ask a question."

  "All right. I won't ask if I can kiss you, then."

  She stiffened, expecting an assault – hard, driving, determined. Ready for one.

  He tricked her.

  His hands didn't drag her to him. His mouth didn't crush down on hers, forcing her to feel more than she wanted … giving her something to fight against. Instead his head lowered slowly, with all the offhand inevitability of that little stream chuckling its way downhill. She could have pulled away.

  She didn't. Because he'd just answered one of those questions she hadn't dared ask. One she should have asked herself.

  Why had she let him bring her here, away from the others?

  For this. Her eyelids drifted low, almost closing as his lips drifted onto hers, and settled. She'd come with him for this.

  How had he known she needed this, the slow, subtle lesson in his taste he offered as his mouth rocked gently on hers? The smooth spread of his hands on her bare back as his fingers stretched to hold more of her. And not enough.

  She heard a sound – more than a gasp, not quite a moan. And knew it came from her. Why hadn't she known how devastating the gradual wooing of her mouth could be? A sensual courting that left her free, always, to break away. And made her crave more. Deeper, hotter.

  Her lips quivered open, and he came inside. His hands slid down her ar
ms, moved to her waist. The muscles of her inner thighs quivered. Fire curled in a sweet, hot ball, low in her belly. Her eyes stayed open as her hands reached for him, found him.

  The wall of his chest was hard beneath the nubby silk of his shirt, as hard as the unreadable mask of his face. The skin at the base of his neck was rough and warm. The feel of his hair, cool and short and soft, mingled with the musk of his skin and the green smell of the woods around them. Her fingers found the pulse in his throat. It drummed out a message at odds with the careful precision of his hands – the only hint she found that he hungered as she did.

  But it was honest, that small physical revelation. She closed her eyes, reading him better with hands and mouth than she could with vision. Speaking to him the same way.

  Let go, she said wordlessly as her hands began a restless questioning of their own. Want me, her mouth said as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Lose yourself her heart said. Take this and lose yourself in it. But she didn't know if her heart spoke to him. Or to her.

  She felt desire hit him – the quick, hard quiver of muscles across his chest. A harsh, indrawn breath. His hands clamping suddenly just under her rib cage, bruisingly hard. Possessive. Something clicked into place inside her, something nameless and necessary. She pressed against him, and found need.

  And he let her go.

  Air, cool and unwelcome, replaced him all along her front. She wanted to curse or to cry, but was too confused to do either. Slowly she opened her eyes.

  He'd moved back several paces. If he was struggling as she was for sense and sanity, it didn't show. Except for a slight hurry in the lift and fall of his chest, he looked unmoved. But he didn't speak. For long moments they stared at each other, moonlight and questions between them, fairy-glow and earth at their feet.

  "What happened just now?" she asked, then winced at her foolishness. What had happened? Just a kiss. A kiss that had sent everything sliding sideways, tilting her world.

  He didn't answer her silly question. "Did I hurt you?"

  Not yet, she thought, then realized he was talking about the way his hands had gripped her. "No. Is that why you changed your mind? Because you were afraid you'd hurt me?"

  "I didn't think you'd want me to take you here in the dirt. Was I wrong?"

  She was glad he'd said that. It made her angry, and anger was easy and understandable. She started back the way they'd come, dimly surprised that her body obeyed and moved normally. But he stood in the center of the path, his big body blocking her, the trees crowding them too closely for her to go around him.

  She stopped and looked up at him. "Are you going to stand there and stare at me all night?"

  "This was a mistake." He seemed to be speaking as much to himself as to her. "It's going to complicate things."

  That he was right didn't ease the sharp sting of his words. She should agree with him, should point out that they were adults and could put this moment of misplaced lust behind them and work together. And if he'd decided he didn't want her after all, that was all for the best.

  Ten minutes ago, that was what she'd wanted. To keep things on a businesslike basis between them. Not now. Now she knew the feel of his mouth, the clutch in her belly when his hands had gripped her so fiercely. She wanted it again, wanted to see if the world slid crazily, then clicked into place once more when she was in his arms.

  But now he was stepping aside, turning his body so she could go up the path ahead of him. Standing aside and letting her pass without touching him. Telling her without words that he intended to give her exactly what she'd wanted … ten minutes ago.

  * * *

  A mistake. Jacob hadn't intended to tell her that. The words had slipped out as soon as the truth of them had pressed itself into a mind still blank with shock. Those words stayed with him as they waited at the front of the house for his car to be brought up.

  Thank God she didn't seem to feel the need to talk things out the way so many women did. That had been one of the few things he'd disliked about Maggie, her tendency to pick apart emotions like a coach reviewing the films of his team's misplays. Discussion wouldn't mend matters. It wouldn't undo his mistake.

  He'd been aware of Claire before. Now, after tasting her, the awareness was ten times more acute. He felt her silent presence beside him, could almost count her breaths. He didn't want to look at her, but good manners obliged him to open the door for her.

  She looked pale. And damn near as jumpy as he felt. "Could we put the top down?"

  It was the last thing he'd expected her to say. "It will mess up your hair."

  "I know how to use a hairbrush. Look, if you don't want to bother, just say so."

  "I'll put it down." The wind would be noisy without the top, loud enough to make conversation difficult. That appealed to him as much as the flight and freedom of driving open to the world. He unfastened the catches and folded back the top, his hands performing the familiar task without requiring any of his attention.

  She commanded that.

  Claire slid into the car gracefully, but even so, her dress rode up, giving him a glimpse of smooth white thigh. He wanted to taste the skin behind her knees.

  He was scowling when he sat behind the steering wheel. Jacob had two ways of dealing with tension when it built too high to ignore. He either worked it off physically – in the gym, sparring with Cosmo, swimming laps – or he climbed in this car with the top down, and let speed and wind blow a little calm back inside him.

  Tonight it didn't work. The air smelled fresh and wild away from the congestion of the city. Usually that helped.

  But even jamming down the accelerator when they reached the Interstate didn't soothe him.

  Neither did the silence he'd thought he wanted. She hadn't said a word, and it was driving him crazy.

  Dammit, it wasn't as if he'd mauled her. She'd been vulnerable after the confrontation with the Lawrences, but he'd been careful with her … right up until the moment when he hadn't been. When need had surged so strongly it had wiped out everything else. Like a tree hit by a flood and dragged from its banks, its roots still tangled in the earth that should have held it, he'd been yanked out of his control.

  Shock had stopped him then, not any remnant of self-discipline. Pure, icy shock had slapped him in the face with what he'd done. And what he'd been about to do.

  A man who couldn't control himself with a woman couldn't be trusted. Not by her, not by himself.

  The traffic grew heavier, forcing him to slow. They were nearly to the exit that would take them to Garland. Still she didn't speak.

  He'd had about enough of her sitting there without saying a word. "If you still want to get your cat, you'd better give me directions."

  "Take the loop to the Cates exit, then head north to Valley Mills." Her voice was cool and clipped, barely audible over the rush of air. "Go three blocks and turn left on Delmar. My house is 1110."

  "It's not as if I attacked you," he growled suddenly. She'd wanted him. Whatever other mistakes he'd made that night, he wasn't wrong about that. Her body had turned fluid and soft against his. Her hands had sought him out. "You were willing. More than willing. So if you're waiting for an apology, you – what did you say?" The wind had caught her voice and whipped it away.

  She didn't answer. He spared her one quick glance and caught her profile, facing forward, her hair whipping madly around her face.

  He scowled. "You're laughing."

  "Sorry. I thought – oh, never mind what I thought. I understand now. You're upset because you got a little carried away, aren't you?"

  A little carried away? His fingers tightened bruise-hard on the steering wheel. He'd lost control. He'd thought that would be the worst thing he could do with Claire, but she sure as hell didn't seem upset about it.

  If she didn't want his money, didn't want reason and control from him, what did he have that she could possibly need?

  Her mirth had faded. "Is this going to make problems for us? In working together, I me
an."

  "No." He wouldn't look at her. "No problem. I kissed you, you kissed me back. We're adults. We don't have to let it interfere with our business relationship."

  "Then why are you so angry?"

  Good question.

  The wind rushing by now smelled of concrete and exhaust, not pine and dirt. The darkness was spoiled by the countless lights of the city, strobed by headlights and neon. There was no peace here. There was no peace in his thoughts, either, and somehow the bright, crowded silence of the city made it impossible to avoid those thoughts.

  He'd been a breath away from pushing her down on the ground, pushing up her skirt and taking her there, fast and hard and hot. And she wondered why he was angry?

  Claire needed a man she could trust. He didn't trust himself. It was time to step back, reappraise the situation and his goal.

  He didn't want to.

  Jacob was not a simple man. Complexity and contradiction had been bred into him by the chaos of his childhood, but he'd learned to impose order on uncertainty by setting goals. Once he'd chosen a target, he became remarkably simple and direct. Everything he was, everything he had, went toward accomplishing his goal.

  He wanted Claire McGuire more than he had ever wanted a woman. He also wanted to push her away – out of his house, out of his life. Out of his head.

  It was that kiss, he thought. That damned kiss. He didn't want to step back. He didn't want to go forward, either.

  Dammit to hell.

  Her voice broke into his thoughts. "My house is just ahead, on the left. The one with the circular driveway."

  He saw it. Her cousin hadn't left the porch light on for her, but there were lights on inside the house. Jacob pulled into the driveway and shut off the ignition. "I'll come in with you."

  She clicked open her seat belt and slid him an amused glance. "I was going to ask."

  "The are lights on inside," he observed as he rounded the front of the car.

  "Danny is house-sitting for me." There was a hint of challenge in the look she gave him, a certain stiffness in her posture as she started for the door. It occurred to him that she expected him to be jealous.

  Claire had reason to fear a man's jealousy. "Best not to leave a house empty," he said mildly, keeping pace with her.