by Cindy Gerard
Jo stood, watching him go. A lump lodged in her throat. The heaviness in her chest pressed hard as she remembered the feel of his long, strong fingers tying her hair with such gentleness, of how those hands had caressed her.
From the beginning, she’d been too aware of his physical presence. His brusquely executed escape told her he was wanting too. The dawning realization stunned her. The wonder of it astounded her. Yet as she stood there, bathed in the autumn sunlight and the knowledge that a man like that could want her, the why of it ceased to matter.
She knew that when she left this island, she would leave a different person than when she came.
Walking slowly into the cabin, she looked at his bed where he’d moved it into the corner. She looked at her own in front of the fire. And she wondered if another night would pass before he came to her . . . or before she went to him.
New resolve and old regrets marked each footstep as Adam approached the cabin a couple of hours later. Control was critical. It was the only thing that would keep him from embarking on a journey that could only end in pain. She was innocent and clean. He was jaded by experience and soiled with the sins of his profession. He was going to stay the hell away from her.
Then he saw her and resolve snapped like the twigs beneath his feet.
She looked every bit of sixteen years old as she sat at the top of the cabin steps, bathed in the vibrant rays of the setting sun. Her feet were perched on the step below her, her forearms crossed over her knees. Despite his determination to remain distant, he wondered what it would have felt like to steal her first kiss.
There was nothing good he could give her, and there was so damn much he could take away. He vowed again that he wouldn’t touch her. But the hesitant smile that broke across her face when she saw him shook both his purpose and his conviction.
“Hi,” she said softly, her eyes shining with a guilelessness he doubted he’d ever known.
“Hi,” he grunted, and forced himself up the steps and past her into the cabin.
“I heated up the soup if you’re hungry.”
“Fine.” He closed the door and leaned back against it, trying to forget the look of bewilderment that had clouded her eyes. He hissed a vivid expletive under his breath. Wasn’t it better to leave her wondering than wounded? And that was exactly how he’d leave her if he got close enough to touch her again.
“This from a man who once prided himself on control,” he muttered in disgust as he slammed around in the cupboard looking for a bowl. He found one and filled it. Propping his elbows on the table, he hunched over his supper like an angry bear guarding his last pot of honey. He’d shoveled down two mouthfuls when he stopped, drew a deep breath, and dropped his spoon.
He flattened his forearms on the table and looked toward the door. Who the hell was he mad at? Her? Not fair, Dursky.
He strode across the room and opened the door.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, bracing his hand above him on the door frame.
She didn’t turn around. She just wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her chin on her knees. “A little while ago.”
He stared at the top of her head, working the muscle in his jaw. Sighing with resignation, he walked out onto the porch.
“Mind if I join you?”
She looked at him over her shoulder, clearly trying to read his mood. “I can go in, if you want the porch to yourself.”
She started to rise. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “No. Stay. I’d like the company.” Before it was too late and before it started to feel too comfortable there, he pulled his hand away.
He eased to the bottom step and crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles. Propping his elbows on the step by her feet, he stared in the direction of the bay. The first evening star was a winking pinhole in the rosy blush of twilight. They watched in silence as dusk slowly relinquished its last bit of daylight to the gunmetal blue of the darkening sky. Only the distant and profoundly constant wash of water infiltrated the quiet.
“How do you get used to it?” he asked, not looking at her. “The silence. The solitude.”
He felt her shift on the step above him. “How do you get used to the sulfur and gas fumes of the city? I guess it’s a question of what seems natural. If you grow up with solitude, you feel comfortable with it. I never got used to life in Minneapolis. I always felt misplaced there.”
He twisted around to face her. “It must have been rough for you.”
She looked off into the darkness, absorbed with something only she could see. When she met his eyes, her face was stripped of emotion. “I hated it. But I stayed because I had nowhere else to go. Aunt Grace and I were of the same mind about the decision. Neither of us wanted me there. It was the only thing we ever agreed on.”
She stopped abruptly, clearly uncomfortable with his frowning attention.
“Doesn’t exactly sound like you received an open-arms welcome.”
“I’m sure it was a shock for her too,” she said generously.
Too generously, he thought, unaccountably angry with some faceless old witch who could have provided a cushion instead of another blow.
“Anyway,” Jo went on, “she put a roof over my head and clothes on my back, then pretended I didn’t exist. I made it easy for her by staying out of her hair. The day after I graduated from high school I moved out. I worked my way through college, then got a job at an ad agency in St. Paul.”
“And then?”
She shrugged. “And then I saved my money, and this spring, I came home.”
He was sure she wasn’t aware of it, but when she said the word “home,” her eyes softened and all the tension eased out of her voice. At the same time, a corresponding warmth stole the last of his determination not to react to her. He didn’t have to be her lover to be her friend.
“I guess you knew what you were talking about all along,” he said thoughtfully.
“Excuse me?”
“You really do know how to take care of yourself.”
She took his cue with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “By damn near getting myself drowned?”
He grinned, feeling too much pleasure in her smile. “So,” he said speculatively, breaking the spell, “it was the solitude, or lack of it, that made you come back?”
“Yes, but more specifically, I came back because of Shady Point. I’d kept up-to-date with what was happening to the lodge through Steve and just bided my time until the right opportunity presented itself. This spring, I thought it had.”
He stared into the night. “Life hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing for you, has it?”
“It’s definitely been a challenge.”
“What now, Jo?”
She shrugged and lifted her chin. “Something will turn up. I’ll get by.”
“I’m sure you will,” he said softly, then smiled to himself as he turned back to face the lake. “And may God have mercy on any mere male who might try to help you.”
“I heard that,” she said, joining the attempt to keep things light. “I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. If I truly need help, I accept it.”
“But it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” He rose, brushed off the seat of his pants, and countered her silence with a gentle smile. “I bet I know something else that hurts.”
She tilted her head warily.
“That skirmish you had with the lake last night was probably equivalent to hitting a truck broadside.”
“I’m fine.”
He laughed. “See? You’d chew nails before you’d admit that you’re hurting. Your hand is broken, you took a beating in that storm, yet you’ll sit there on your bruised pride and your black-and-blue butt and deny it.”
“How do you know what color my . . . um, butt is?”
He grinned, hearing the reluctant smile in her voice. “It was a lucky gu
ess based on the way you moved all day.”
He considered her with new appreciation. “You’re too tough for your own good, Red. But there may be hope for you yet. That is, if you really can learn how to accept help when it’s offered. Speaking of which, I’ve got a little surprise that just may make you feel better.”
“Surprise?”
“Uh-huh. And while you’re wondering what I’m up to, practice saying these three words: ‘Thank you, Adam.’ ”
Leaving her with a puzzled frown, he slipped around to the back of the cabin.
That morning, when he’d rummaged around in the shed behind the cabin for tools, he’d found an old copper bathtub tucked in a corner. While she was napping, he’d washed it and left it to dry in the sun.
“What in the—Dursky!” she cried in delight as he hauled the tub up the steps.
“Patience, brat!” he ordered. When the tub was finally full of hot water he’d heated over the fire blazing in the hearth, he let her come inside.
She looked from the steaming tub to his face.
“For the little lady with the bruised pride and purple butt,” he said gently.
Her eyes brightened with the threat of tears. “Thank you, Adam.”
“You said that very well,” he said in a gruff whisper. Ignoring that voice of reason, he lifted his hand to her hair. “Soak as long as you like. I’ll just be outside. There’s a T-shirt and a towel on the table.”
The moon rose full and slow over the lake that night. Adam sat on the end of the point and watched it long after he was sure he wouldn’t catch Joanna at her bath.
Then he watched it a little longer.
At last, he entered the cabin quietly. She was curled up in her bed sound asleep. His half-eaten bowl of soup had been cleared away, but the soup pot sat on the stove still simmering. A clean bowl and spoon were set on the table. Something foreign and warm tugged at his gut at her thoughtfulness.
He wasn’t hungry. He sat at the table anyway and ate more soup while he watched her childlike body curl further into itself under the blankets. Then he stripped and slipped into the tepid water that smelled of soap and mineral and Joanna.
The water had cooled way down but he washed slowly, envisioning her lithe body filling this space, imagining the water lapping at her breasts, seeing her soap-slicked hands skimming across her skin the way he ached to have his do.
He swore softly and shot out of the tub. You’re nothing but a horny old man, he blasted himself. And you’re too damn old to be smitten! She’s not for you, so for God’s sake, get a grip.
He’d never wanted a woman so badly. And he’d never wanted a woman like her. He’d wanted women briefly and without feeling. He’d wanted them selfishly and without guilt.
But he wanted Joanna lingeringly and with as much feeling as he could wring from her languid limbs. He wanted her so he could bury his guilt deep inside her.
He toweled himself dry, pulled on his jeans, and whipped back the covers on his bed. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he stared at the ceiling, forcing himself to relax. The same disturbing thought presented itself over and over again, though. How many nights would pass before he went to her . . . or before she came to him? And where would he find the strength to tell her no?
Jo awoke with a start, her heart pounding frantically. She sat straight up, brushing the tumble of hair from her eyes as her sleep-drugged thoughts scrambled to connect with the sound that had roused her.
A tortured groan from the far side of the room brought her to her feet.
“Adam,” she whispered, dropping to her knees by his bed. She laid a hand on his forehead. It was beaded with perspiration.
“Adam, wake up,” she said more forcefully. He moaned and threw his head from side to side. He was drenched in sweat, his blanket twisted in a knotted tangle around his hips where his clenched fists dug into the mattress.
She grabbed one shoulder with her good hand. “Adam.” She shook him. “Adam, please, wake up!”
Stormy gray eyes snapped open. His glazed gaze darted wildly around the darkened cabin as he grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away. He rolled out of bed and slammed her to the floor beneath him, pinning her arms above her head.
“A . . . dam . . .” she cried, struggling as he crushed her body with his weight. “Adam, you’re hurting me. Adam . . . please. Wake up. It’s Jo.”
His breath beat hot against her face, stirring the hair at her temple. The fear and pain threaded through each shaky word must have brought him to his senses.
“Jo.” He heaved a tortured sigh, his breathing rough. “Joanna. Oh, Lord. Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, her heart beating erratically against his chest.
“God, Jo.” Slowly, he released her wrists. Levering his weight onto his elbows, he cupped her face in his hands. A tear slid down her temple toward her ear. He groaned, caught the moisture on his thumb, then pressed his lips to the damp skin beneath the tear track. “Oh, Red, I’m sorry.”
“You—you were having a nightmare.”
He laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “Yeah.” He drew a ragged breath. Soothed by her nearness and the sweet, fresh fragrance of her skin, he felt his breathing gradually slow, his pulse steadily lessen.
He’d frightened her, hurt her even, yet when he raised his head to look at her, her eyes were awash with concern. He hadn’t felt that from a woman in years. In that moment, he knew he could trust her. With his deepest secrets. With the awful truths of his life.
Thanking fate or kismet or whatever powers that be for landing them together at this particular place and time, he smiled apologetically and brushed the hair back from her temples.
“You seem to have a penchant for getting manhandled by me.”
Her eyes softened. He felt her body relax beneath him.
“You’re the only man I’d let get by with this a second time.” Her voice was deeper, huskier than he’d ever heard it.
Their gazes locked, and her soft smile faded. She stirred beneath him. Awareness was swift and explosive. The only things between her breasts and his chest were the sheen of perspiration coating his skin and the thin cotton T-shirt she’d worn to bed. He groaned, feeling an instant surge of arousal.
“Ah, Jo.” He buried his face in the dewy skin at her throat, losing himself in her warmth. “You feel so damn good.” He pressed a kiss against her skin, knowing he should let her go. “So damn good . . .” He drew her closer. “And it’s been so long since I’ve wrapped myself around anything but a bad dream.”
Small, warm hands hesitated, then settled on his arms. Slowly, as if memorizing the texture, categorizing each muscle, she slid them up to rest on his shoulders. He shuddered and nipped the delicate hollow of her collarbone. “Send me back to my bed,” he ordered raggedly, “while I still have the strength to let you.”
She arched her neck to give him better access. “Your bed is drenched in sweat,” she whispered. “You can’t go back there. Come to mine.”
His heart stopped, then pounded in double time. Blood pulsed to his groin, rolling over sanity. He forced himself to look into her eyes. They were wide open, full of promise and passion and an innocence that demanded he stop. “This is crazy.”
“I know.”
He kissed her cheekbone. Her lashes fluttered softly against his lips. “There’s no future in this . . . for either of us.” He scattered random kisses that begged her to go, yet enticed her to stay.
“I’m not asking for a future.”
“Dammit, Joanna.” He wrenched his mouth away from the drugging taste of her skin. “This isn’t right. I’m old enough to be your father, and you—”
She pressed two trembling fingers against his lips. “And I’m old enough to know it doesn’t matter.”
He held her gaze in the fire glow. “Are you sure?”
“You’re sure now. Tonight. But what about tomorrow?”
She brushed back a damp lock of hair that tumbled over his forehead. “I’m not asking for tomorrow.”
Grabbing the wrist of her good hand, he pinned it to the floor above her head. “But you should be!” he bit out. “You should be. And I can’t give it to you. You deserve more.” He clenched his jaw. “And I’ve got nothing more to give.”
“You’ve given me your honesty. That’s enough.”
He shook his head, fighting to do what he felt was right, aching to do what he knew was wrong. “Joanna.” He breathed her name on a sigh. “Are you . . . have you ever . . .”
“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Look.” She gave a small, defiant shrug of her shoulders, her passion suddenly reduced by doubt. “I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
He heard the hurt. Each word hit him like a gut punch.
“I—I thought we wanted the same thing,” she went on. “If you’re trying to find a graceful way to tell me you’re not interested, don’t worry about it.”
She bucked under him, trying to roll him off and away.
He held her fast. She was incredible. Seductive in her innocence, bold in her declaration of need. Yet for all her self-assurance, she didn’t realize the effect she had on him. He wanted her so badly it hurt. He wanted to fill his hands with her round bottom, his mouth with her breasts. He wanted to gentle her, to fill her, to make her cry out in passion. He wanted her so bad he feared he’d bruise her, physically and emotionally. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know how desirable you are.”
“Desirable? Look. I’m a realist. I’ve lived with this face for twenty-six years. It’s the face the boys used to look past to get to the pretty ones. It’s the face that prompted my friends to leave their dates with me for safekeeping. It’s not a face that elevates pulse rates and inspires heavy breathing.”
He pressed her hand to the center of his chest, where his heart pounded with his need for her.