She wanted to say something but she couldn’t. She was looking desperately for the self-assured woman who had thought nothing of telling him exactly where to get off when they had met under the tense circumstances of the crash.
He rose suddenly and walked to the mantel, stretching his fingers out to the fire. He turned back to her. “I don’t understand, Skye. Don’t you want me?”
His gaze caught her and compelled her. Skye found her voice. “Yes,” she said softly, “I do want you.”
He still wore the puzzled frown. “Come here, Skye,” he said, his voice that of gentle but firm command. And yet his voice was not what moved her. She had answered the call of his magnetic eyes long ago; she did so then, barely allowing herself time for thought as she slowly left the bed and walked to him, her eyes never leaving his. She paused directly before him, only then leveling her gaze to the crisp cotton of his shirt and the rough tweed wool of his jacket.
This time his fingers threaded into her hair, arching her neck, drawing her head back. His eyes held hers until their lips touched again, his mouth taking hers now with growing urgency, his teeth gently tugging, his tongue tasting the outline of her lips with a fever, driving again to seek the recesses of her mouth. The room began to swim before Skye; she clutched his chest, hands splayed across the sinewed strength, feeling the heat beneath the material. His fingers trailed down her spine, massaging her back, reaching to cradle her buttocks, to draw her up, press her against his heated length. Wave after wave of sweet, aching sensation washed through Skye. The need within her, spreading like the rays of permeating heat from the center of a sun, was so strong that she moaned with the lock of his kiss still upon her lips. She was barely standing on her own.
He set her from him suddenly, the dark intensity of rising passion hardening his features. He began working at the buttons of her gown, his eyes on his hands as his fingers touched the fabric near her collarbone.
Skye’s fingers curled convulsively into the material of his jacket sleeves. Beneath the tweed she could feel the rigidity of his arms. “Please,” she murmured, pleading breathlessly, not sure herself at first for what she beseeched. “Please, Kyle, the light…”
His fingers had finished with the last of the buttons, just below her breasts. His eyes returned to hers. They held a clarity, a tender understanding, but still he shook his head. He slipped his hands into the opening of the gown, sliding them to her shoulders and forcing the gown along with them It fell to her feet with a soft rustle.
Kyle set his lips against her shoulder, against the hollow of her collarbone. His hands moved to cradle her breasts, then he moved back again, his fingers now tracing the blue veins that faintly trailed over the swelling mounds.
“I’ll be very gentle,” he promised, his tore a velvet caress. And then he proceeded to uphold his vow, caressing her breasts with the utmost care, bending to encircle the nipples with his tongue, moving his mouth with sensuous warmth in an easy suctioning action. His kisses moved over her ribs. “You taste so sweet,” he told her in a muffled whisper, “so sweet…”
Skye had no reply for him. He had fallen to his knees, his hands roamed softly from her breasts to the swelling of her belly, his kisses covered the expanse. Her hands clutched his shoulders, the fingers gripping hard, the nails digging into fabric. “You’re beautiful,” he told her then, “I can’t tell you how very… very beautiful you are to me…”
“Oh, God, Kyle, please!” Skye moaned, her fingers clenching his hair convulsively as lips moved lower, covering her thighs, finding the moistness, the heat, that clearly defined her beseeching to them both. He shifted, bringing his kisses slowly up the same path, ending with her lips as he swept her high in his arms and brought her easily to the huge four-poster. He shed his own clothing quickly, then gently lifted her thigh to allow himself entry between the embrace of slender legs.
Time and distance were forgotten. He had given her the life within her; he was the life within her. She had ached for him so badly, for so long, that tears formed in her eyes with the ecstasy of his entry. Skye arched high against him, losing herself to the undulating surge of rhythm.
In those moments he was a stranger no longer. He was the man she had come to love. Each driving thrust, every touch of his body, was an elemental reminder that he was the man who had taught her what it meant to love completely, to give, to need. And as they writhed in the united fever of desire, she knew little else except that he was the one man in her world with whom she had known the rapturous pleasure of total intimacy—the man she could see, touch, and openly shudder with pleasure before in the full splendor of light. He could create within her flames that burned so high they knew no bounds.
His rhythm intensified. Whereas he had been staring into her eyes, he closed his own and crushed her against him. That which had begun slow and tantalizing no longer sought to delay and to encourage complete capitulation, but demanded with furiously pulsing force. Skye shuddered, feeling his release, soaring with her, clinging to him and holding tightly as waves of aftershock kept her quivering in his arms. His weight remained against her, and it filled her with contentment. Moments later she felt him smoothing her hair and she snuggled to adjust to him. Her eyes were closed and the kept them so, drained and drowsy, easing to a gentle sleep.
When she awoke, the room was dark. Only the glow of the low-burning fire in the grate bathed them in a soft gold light.
Skye leaned upon an elbow and studied Kyle. In sleep his features relaxed; it was startling to see how handsome and ruggedly chiseled his profile was. And yet it was also easy to see the tiny lines around his eyes, the only indication of his age. Her gaze slipped to his shoulders and chest. The tone of individual muscles was visible even In this state. The dim golden light cast a glow upon his body, clearly highlighting the tautness of the bronze skin, the perfection of the form beneath it. Her gaze moved downward. His belly was flat, concave, except for the ripple that indicated taut muscle even there…
She stretched out a hand, stroking all that her eyes saw and exploring even farther. Soft but coarse tufts of body hair, long, sinewed legs, not even his toes were free from her scrutiny.
She returned her vision to his face to find him staring at her, a smile curled into the corner of his lip. She hesitated a second, flushing a little despite all that had passed between them.
“Please,” he murmured teasingly, “don't let my conscious participation stop you.”
Skye stared at him a second longer. She lowered her eyes but returned his smile. And continued her enticing exploration.
The room was brilliantly alight with the dazzle of morning when Skye awoke again. A little groggily she blinked and stretched out an arm. Kyle was no longer beside her.
“Good morning.”
She glanced up to see him expertly flipping the ends of his tie. A lazy smile started to filter into her lips, but it was quickly halted as he began to speak to her brusquely.
“I’ll be gone today and every day for the next several weeks— things to catch up on. I've arranged rooms within the house for you to create an office or workshop or whatever you need. Arrange whatever you want. My mother will show you around, Chris can help you later. The house is completely staffed, so you needn’t worry about anything. It’s unlikely that you would answer a phone, but if you should, and if the caller should ever be Lisa, you are not to talk to her. She does call to talk to Chris, and, of course, that’s fine, but you are not to say more than ‘hello’ to her. Is that clear?”
Skye felt her body stiffen with a certain shock as she stared at him with disbelief. What had happened? He was a stranger again, knocking out orders with autocratic authority. He had showered and shaved, and dressed in one of his perfectly tailored suits, and once again she didn’t know him. She reached for the sheets and drew them to her chin. “Why are you afraid to have me talk to Lisa?”
“I'm not afraid to have you talk to Lisa,” he said impatiently, stopping by a dresser to pocket keys and change.
“She’s going to do everything in her power to get under your skin, and I just want to halt problems before they arise. She said a few things on the phone to you once and you were you ready to run scared.”
“Dammit, Kyle!” Skye murmured bitterly. “It wasn’t a matter of running scared! She said she would call your bluff and she obviously did! You refuse to—”
“Damn you, Skye, don’t!” He moved swiftly to the bed, bending to grip her shoulders. He shook her and she knew from the rough touch of his hands that she had truly infuriated him. “Stay out of this! It's none of your business.”
She clenched her teeth hard so that tears wouldn’t spring to her eyes. “It is my business. I—”
“You will wind up Mrs. Jagger. But don’t pry, Skye. Stay out of this—and don’t, I repeat, don’t talk to Lisa.”
“Why? Am I going to hear something I won’t like?” Skye hated it when his features closed to her, when he put on his “Mr. Executive” suit and challenged her, especially when she was clad in nothing but sheets, when her hair was in wild tangles and her body still sore from the ardency of his lovemaking. She felt at a disadvantage, reminded that he was forty years old, years her senior, an affluent and powerful man who had forged his destiny and roved the playgrounds of the world while she was still in grade school. It reminded her of Lisa’s mockery: “You’ll never hold his interest.”
“Tell me something, Kyle,” she demanded, determined not to display youth or weakness. “Is there something I should know about Lisa? You’ve supposedly been separated for ten years, but she appeared on your arm at Igua. Has she slept with you here, in this bed?”
He hesitated, his eyes hard on her, and Skye blanched. Why had she asked such a thing? The answer was one she didn’t want to hear.
“She has slept here!” Skye hissed.
“Lisa was in this bed once—almost a year ago,” he told her with marked irritation. “Don’t start on my past, Skye. It has nothing to do with us. Besides, I could start asking you a few questions. In fact, I think I will anyway. You tell me about Ted. I know you refused to marry him—commendable morality, you wouldn’t marry him while carrying my child. But what about your stay at Igua? What about that hasty return home?”
Skye smiled with no humor, lifting a brow imperiously. “I consider that none of your business.”
She didn’t like the dark tension in his face one bit. His fingers tightened around her bare shoulders, and despite herself she flinched. “Skye…” he warned harshly, shifting and pulling her along with him so that she lay on his lap, staring into eyes that glittered dangerously.
“You should know, Mr. Jagger. You, after all, were having me spied upon!” He tensed again and she lost her nerve. “I haven’t… I haven’t… Ted hasn’t touched me since long before the island.”
“Thank you, Ms. Delaney. That bit of honesty was nice and refreshing. And now I’ll tell you about Lisa. She had rooms in this house until Igua. I told her there to get out of our suite, and she moved her things out of here before I returned. She didn’t spend that much time here, and I really didn’t care if she was here or not. I tolerated a lot because of Chris. I do not love Lisa, and I guarantee you I certainly do not want Lisa in any way. Now that is all that I’ve got to say. You are going to have to trust me, but stay away from Lisa., and keep your nose out of the divorce. There is someone I value very much—yes, Skye, as much as that child you carry— who could wind up hurt. I love you, but I’m warning you—keep out of this!”
He stared at her a moment longer, and Skye returned his stare, clenching her muscles, catching the skin of her lip. He returned her to her pillow and walked out.
She could have risen. She could have called after him that she didn’t understand, and that as long as she didn’t, she couldn’t stay.
But she didn’t. She watched him leave without a word, torn between the uncertainty created by the vehemence of his enigma and the little thrill that coursed through her. He had said he loved her. It wasn’t said with tenderness, or even passion. It had almost been an offhand statement.
But it was one she had been longing to hear.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
December 9, San Francisco
The view from Twin Peaks, as Michael had promised, was absolutely breathtaking. Gazing to the east as the fresh wind whipped her cheeks, Skye could see all of downtown San Francisco laid before her; she could see the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate.
Michael touched her shoulders. “See there—all of Oakland, and there, way over there, that’s Marin County.”
Skye nodded, appreciating the view, appreciating the fresh crispness of the air. “It is beautiful, Michael. Thank you very much for taking me up here.”
“I thought it was about time you got out of the house,” Michael said a bit gruffly. He set a supportive arm around her waist. “Come on, now I’ll take you for some great seafood down by the wharf.”
“That sounds great,” Skye said quietly.
They were both quiet for the drive into town. Skye feigned a great interest in the scenery, but her mind was really fixed on Kyle. She had been in his house for thirty-six days—she could have probably counted the actual hours too—and the situation between them had done nothing but grow more tense. It was probably her own fault, she thought with a wince. Her first day had been so nerve-racking. She had spent at least four hours on the phone with New York; Chris had come home to help her and he had been marvelous, but he made her feel, oh, so terribly awkward; the house staff of five had all met her with very straight faces yet curious, speculative eyes. She was strung like a piano wire by the time Kyle appeared in their room well past midnight. All she could remember by then had been their quarrel—and his autocratic attitude.
She had curled away from him, felt his tension, heard him coldly remind her, “Do you remember, Skye, you promised once never to turn from me.”
Yes, she had promised that, but that had been on the island, before Lisa had become a tenacious leech, before she had known that Kyle could free himself, but refused to do so, before she had had to feel like a wanton idiot because his son quietly helped her with no words of reproach but a peculiar look in fathomless dark eyes.
“It was rather foolish for either of us to make promises, wasn’t it, Kyle? We both seem incapable of keeping them.”
He had sworn beneath his breath, turned from her. And then she was sorry, very sorry, but it was too late because the foot of space between them had become a mile and she was so alone, so very alone with her back straight and stiff.
They were both too passionate, too sensual, to allow their quarrel to stay within the bedroom. The next night he slipped his arms around her firmly and she retaliated by locking her fingers around the nape of his neck… parting her lips hungrily for his kiss. The nights became theirs, but the days remained barren, cold battlegrounds where they spoke with cool cordiality if at all. And Kyle took to staying away longer and longer, seldom even dining with the family.
Skye buried herself in the work of transferring Delaney Designs. Whereas Kyle was constantly gone, Skye clung to the house. She was loath to encounter a reporter who might find her condition a juicy tidbit to spread across the gossip pages.
But this morning Michael had come to her workroom and gruffly insisted she accompany him out. It was evident that he was clearly irritated with his brother’s cool treatment of Skye and determined to make amends himself. And now that she was out, it was good to be away…
Michael expertly parked his little Ferrari. The scent of the wharfs was with them, tangy salt air, delectable aromas of different things from a multitude of dockside restaurants. Seabirds called and soared as Michael helped her from the car.
“Believe it or not”—Michael grinned as he led her toward a rustic-looking building that somewhat resembled a shanty—“this place is quite beautiful inside. Their specialty is a shrimp au gratin that is just out of this world.”
“Sounds lovely,” Skye said, and thirty minutes later she discov
ered that Michael hadn’t overrated the food one bit. They were seated by the window overlooking the Bay and she was feeling better than she had in ages—light, carefree, and young, as if none of the clouds that had brought forth her present situation had ever existed.
Skye leaned across the table, smiling at Michael. “Thank you, Mike, for today. I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying it all.”
Instead of smiling in return, as she had expected, Michael frowned. "You needed to get out, Skye.” He hesitated a moment, staring at his wineglass. “I know how hard this all is for you, Skye. And I don’t really know how to say this, but I wish I could make things easier for you and Kyle. His behavior at times is deplorable, I know. But he does love you, Skye.”
“Does he?” Skye asked with bitter cynicism. “Oh, Michael, if he does, what is the problem? Why is he hedging on his divorce? He barks at me constantly while checking every move that I make, but lets Lisa walk all over him!”
Michael took a long sip of his wine, then swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it as he spoke. “Skye, Kyle doesn’t even speak with me about this. I think I know what is going on, though, and he’s really between the devil and the deep. Bear with him.”
“Michael, if you know something, please tell me,” Skye said. “I’m trying to bear with everything, but when I don’t even know what your brother is thinking—”
“I really can’t tell you anything.” Michael interrupted miserably, “I know it's hard under the circumstances, but please try to trust Kyle. I think that if he really felt you were with him all the way, he’d be a lot easier to live with. He needs your support.”
Skye took a sip of her wine and lowered her eyes. Was Michael right? If she took the step, told Kyle she loved him and that she didn’t care when their marriage took place, as long as she knew that he loved her totally in return, would he learn to trust her, confide in her, come close to her again?
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