She looked up and found him waiting. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was an unfair comment on my part. I don't know what you might or might not have tried and it's none of my business."
"It has recently become your business," he said huskily, touching her face gently with one fingertip, then two, then four, stroking them from her temple to her chin. "I want you to like me. I want us to know each other. Explore each other's . . . feelings."
All her physical senses urged her to lean against his hand, while all her mental capacities shrieked at her to get up, to leave, to run as far and as fast as she could. Loving this man could mean her destruction. But it was too late to run. She drew in a tremulous breath and let it out slowly. And leaned.
"Cal, when you touch me, I can't think."
His smile tore her heart to pieces. "You're too honest, my beautiful B.J. You shouldn't have said that, because now I'm not going to let you think. I'm only going to make you feel."
He slid his fingers to her ear, traced the outline of it with just one, then moved and pressed softly against that mad little pulse in her throat. He watched her eyes flare with shining violet lights before she lowered her lids. But she didn't pull away from him.
"What do you feel when I touch you like that?"
She swallowed. He saw her throat work convulsively. She lifted her lids, those thick, dark lashes fluttering up until she met his gaze. "Warm. Tingly."
"Good," he said softly. "Because when I touch you, I feel hot. And throbbing."
She remembered their kisses. That was the way they had made her feel, too, hot and throbbing. She wanted those feeling again now even though she was still afraid. She wished she wasn't afraid, wished she had the experience she knew she needed in order to meet this man on even ground, play the game his way. Because if she wanted him—and she did—she'd have to play by his rules. They were the only ones available. She didn't have any of her own.
He'd asked her if she wanted to know him that well. Did she? All the new and tremulous love inside her whispered that she did, and she listened to it while she gazed into his eyes. She wasn't kidding herself. She knew what would have to happen before they knew each other with the depth necessary to accomplish what he wanted. That it wasn't so with all artists and their subjects, she also knew. But he wasn't any other artist. And she wasn't any other subject. And there was something between them that precluded ordinary reactions, ordinary treatmerit of his desire to paint her. His desire—and hers—went so far beyond that, that the painting. If it ever materialized, would simply be another way of expressing emotion growing too deep for words.
But was it that deep on both their sides? Could she trust him as much as she knew she'd have to? No! Not yet. She knew she couldn't, because it would mean telling him the truth about herself and she wasn't ready to do that yet. If only, she thought, fighting the desire to run again. If only he'd never told her he found her beautiful.
"Cal." she said pleadingly, "don't ask that of me. Ask anything else, but not to paint me."
His fight hand slid around to cup the back of her head. "Anything?" he asked lazily, combing his fingers through her hair. "This?"
"What?" She could scarcely think, let alone speak coherently.
"This," he said again, and it was no longer a question. He urged her head forward, pulling her toward him.
Then he kissed her.
It was nothing like any other kiss they had shared. It was nothing like anything she had ever experienced. This was a kiss from him that said. Here I am, take me, to which she answered fervently. Me too. In that moment she knew she was lost.
The corner of the table prevented their bodies from touching, but somehow that wasn't important. His mouth was firm on hers, demanding, and his skin smelled wonderful, of after-shave or cologne, of the soap from his shower, the shampoo in his hair, and that faint, elusive scent that she couldn't place. The tip of her tongue tasted his lower lip, once, twice, then a third time, and she finally realized what that scent, that taste, was. It made it exclusively his. She withdrew her mouth from his, laughing delightedly. burying her face in the crook of his neck, drawing in the scent that matched the taste.
"Joke?" he asked in a wobbly tone. Pressing her head to him. he reveled in her scent, the texture of her hair, her willingness to come close to him.
"You taste like turpentine."
His hand cradled the nape of her neck, fingers tangling to her hair, tugging gently. He wanted to see her face. "I'm sorry."
"No." she said, her dimples dancing in her cheeks. "I love the taste of turpentine. Now."
His eyes flared with something that both elated and terrified her. "B.J?" he gasped, but she couldn't let him go on. Clasping his head between her hands, she pulled his mouth back to hers. He met her kiss with a soft groan of capitulation, his mouth opening over hers, hard and insistent. Love, strong and special, began to grow inside her where no such thing had ever lived before.
8
It was a warmth, to begin with, then a heat. It expanded, intensifying, until she thought she might melt and fall to the floor. She didn't because of the firmness of his lips on hers, and the hard hand between her shoulder blades, the other supporting her head. He parted her mouth with the force of his lips, and his tongue slid over her teeth, between them, lapping at hers, tangling with it, and she returned its caresses ardently, avidly, until her head spun with lack of air. But who needed to breathe at a time like this? she wondered, then quit wondering, quit thinking, and simply felt.
But as if he, too, were suffering from the same lack of oxygen, he lifted his head, gasping. His eyes blazed into hers with undeniable joy as they both breathed hard, then they came together again as if compelled.
His hand tightened, slipped down to her nape and then to her waist as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a hard, sensual rhythm that set up a reciprocal beat in her blood, in her body, in her female core. She met it with her tongue, returning it measure for measure, until he growled and tore his mouth from hers. She caught his head with both hands again, not wanting him to leave, but he had no such intention anyway. His burning lips pressed to her throat, and his tongue covered the pulse she could feel pounding there. He drew on it, sucking gently, then harder, and she knew what would happen if he continued. Did she want his mark on her? Yes, yes, yes! If he wanted to put that kind of mark on her, then that was what she wanted, too. She was way, way out of her depth, but she also realized that even if she didn't know how to swim in these waters, maybe drowning wasn't such a bad way to go.
Cal heard her make a small sound that might have been protest and he responded to it at once, easing up with little lip-nips against her mouth and cheeks and chin, until she sighed and sank back in her chair. Her hands trailed from his hair to his shoulders and then away, breaking the contact completely.
She stared at the tabletop.
"Sorry," he said finally, his breathing ragged. "That kind of got out of hand."
"Yes." It was all she could do to whisper her agreement, He picked up her hand. His was shaking and he made no attempt to hide that from her.
She drew in several more breaths, then said, "Cal?" lifting to him eyes almost violet with passion.
"Yes, love?"
"Do you have any idea what a patookus is?"
"What?" His sputter of laughter was a necessary release of tension. "Not the faintest. Why?"
"Oh ... nothing. Just something Melody said."
His smile was rueful. "Oh, that Melody. She set us up, you know."
Again she gave him that startled-doe look. "I know. I didn't realize you did. I'm sorry, Cal. I shouldn't have come under the circumstances."
He shook his head in denial of her words. The circumstances being that he was crazy in love for the first time in his life. It was all he could do to calm himself enough to say, "But you did come, and I wouldn't have it any other way, B.J. Melody may be an interfering nuisance, but I intend to thank her with all appropriate profusion for sending
you to me."
Alarm filled her eyes. Now that he was no longer kissing her, touching her, she could think more clearly. "I'm still leaving, of course. I don't . . . have casual affairs. Cal."
He sighed inwardly. He'd known all along it was too soon for her. She wasn't running this race at the same pace as he was if she was still thinking along the lines of casual affairs. But he'd wait for her. If it took forever, he'd wait.
"Of course," he said. "I know that. But you don't have to leave as soon as you'd planned, B.J. Please? Not right away?" Hell, he might be willing to wait, but was there anything wrong with trying to encourage her to catch up?
She looked at him as she got to her feet, and he hated the way her eyes were big and scared. Never had he less wanted a woman to walk away from him, though that she was ready to do so was, in itself, unique. Was there anything about B.J. Gray that wasn't?
At the door she turned back. "I have to," she said jerkily. "Monday." Her eyes widened as she realized just how soon that was. Tomorrow! She didn't want to leave tomorrow, or any other day soon, but she knew she had to. Anything else would be insane.
He nodded, swallowing his disappointment. He wouldn't push. "Of course," he said again. "But you'll be back."
He watched her breasts rise as she drew in a deep breath. "I don't think so."
"Yes, you will," he said, but he let her go because he knew if he kept her there, held her again, touched her in any way, he'd be unable to stop himself this time.
The girls' tears when she left the next morning made B.J. feel like a monster, but she could comfort them with the promise that she'd see them again in only two weeks. In two weeks Cal would fly out to get her. Two weeks? If it seemed long to the girls, it was an eternity to her.
She turned to Cal, wondering how to say goodbye. She didn't want to spend two weeks away from him. She wanted to crawl into the haven of his arms and rest her head on his chest. She wanted to spend long nights hearing his heart beat under her ear, feeling his breath on her cheek, learning how to please him and how to take the enormous pleasure she was just beginning to think she was capable of feeling. She wanted to do anything but leave, only . . . she had to. She knew that. She wasn't ready for him, not the way he wanted her to be. The only way for either of them to stand it, was for her to leave and do her thinking, her growing up—if that was what was needed—out of his sight.
She met his dark gaze for a moment, then said, "See you soon." He nodded. Pulling her helmet on, she straddled the bike, started the engine, and gunned it. Flying up the hill, she stuck to the trail this time, avoiding the now-dried mud at the side of the irrigation ditch.
She didn't stop and look back until she was high above the valley. When she did, there was no one to see, no one to wave to, no one watching her disappear into the thickness of the forest. She waved anyway, and drove on.
After the ferry trip across the mouth of Jervis Inlet, she whipped along the Sunshine Coast highway, a twisted, convoluted torture track for drivers of four-wheeled vehicles, but a delight for her. She made such good time, she had to wait for the ferry to take her across Howe Sound. She sat by the window in the passenger lounge once the ship had sailed, gazing at the tall, jagged mountains, thinking of a secluded valley that lay beyond them, and ached as she longed for the sound of Cal's voice, the touch of his hand, and the scent of his skin. How could he have become so important to her in only a few days? She couldn't believe how much she missed him.
As the days passed she missed him even more.
What was Cal doing right now? she wondered, walking the seawall in Stanley Park on Tuesday afternoon while a light drizzle fell. Wednesday, at dusk, as she drew the curtains in the house she was taking care of, she wondered if he was safely back home from wherever he'd gone that day. What awful concoction would he make for dinner? she mused, smiling. Was it something the kids would eat willingly, or would he have to suffer through their "whining and dining"? Would they think it looked or tasted like dog food?
She wondered idly how they knew what dog food tasted like, but she knew that at least they wouldn't be existing on peanut butter sandwiches and canned tomato soup, not with what she'd left in the freezer. Did he know about those meals? she asked herself on Thursday evening as she sat curled up with a book whose pages she would have to read again. Had the kids told him about the leftover chili, the leftover stew? The tuna casseroles and the lasagne? Had he been eating them, too, and thinking of her?
She was still wrapped up in thinking about him on Friday afternoon when she drove her car into the garage at the rear of her friend's house. Entering through the kitchen, she glanced at the small chicken breast thawing in the sink and turned away. She wasn't hungry. Not for that. She didn't know what she wanted. She kicked off her shoes, hung her jacket in a closet, and padded across thick carpets into the living room, flicking on lights as she went. When the doorbell rang and she looked out the peephole, she thought she must have conjured him up through the power of her imagination, her need. But when she wrenched open the door and reached out to touch him, he was real, and solid, and soaking wet.
"Cal!" she cried. "What are you doing here?" He answered her by hauling her against him and kissing her until she moaned, wrapped her arms around his waist, and clung to him.
"Glad to see me?" he asked when he came up for air.
She nodded, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the fresh scent of his skin, the tang that was exclusively his. But. . .
"No turpentine!" she murmured, lifting her head to look at him. "You haven't been working?"
"No," he said. "I couldn't. I missed you too much." She forgot they hadn't known each other long enough. She forgot she wanted time to think about things. She forgot everything but the past empty days. "Oh, Cal, I missed you, too."
"Tell me," he said. "Tell me how much you've missed me."
Trembling, she lifted her hand and touched his face, smiling. "More than I should have, I think. But . . . what are you doing here? Where are the kids?" she added as an afterthought. Wow! Some coguardian she was! The girls should have been her first concern.
"Laura and Kara are at my place, safe and sound and happy. And as for me, I'm here because I couldn't stay away. By Monday afternoon I was pacing. By Tuesday I couldn't eat. Wednesday night I didn't sleep. Thursday I asked the kids how they felt about moving back to town and their cheers nearly knocked me dead, and not only because of my weakened condition. So I'm here. And I have to kiss you again."
He did, and she knew why she had missed him.
"B.J.," he said several magic minutes later. "We have to stop this. We have to talk."
"Hmm?" she asked dreamily, tracing the shape of his mouth with one finger. One shaking finger, she noticed dimly. "Talk? I'd rather do this."
"Me too, but kisses aren't enough. I think maybe I'm going to have to make love to you."
"Really?" She sounded startled and he wanted to laugh.
"Really. So if you don't want me to do it out here in the rain—and in full view of the neighbors—invite me in"
"Neighbors?" What was he talking about?
"Yes. You know, the people across the street. Or next door. Or down the block. Any of them."
"Oh." Did he mean it? If she invited him in, would he make love to her?
"B.J. I'm getting wetter."
"Oh. Yes. Me too." She frowned in perplexity. What was making them wet? She couldn't, concentrate while her mind was so filled with the possibilities that lay just around the corner, and her body was pounding with need.
He laughed, then scooped her off her feet and stepped inside. Shutting the door, he leaned on 1t and let her slide slowly down his front.
The laughter in his eyes died and he gazed at her seriously. "I had to come. I couldn't stand staying away from you. I know you're not ready yet, so I'm going to take it slow, make it easy on you, the way it should be. You'll get to know me, and then we'll decide where to go from there."
"Cal ..." She wanted t
o tell him he was wrong. She wanted him to be wrong. But he wasn't. He was right, and she felt like a fool because of it. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "When did you arrive?"
"Around noon. I phoned you. Several times. I was going to ask you for a date. Dinner, dancing, the works. I was going to arrive with chocolates and wine and flowers. Instead, I came empty-handed. I got worried when I couldn't reach you by phone. I've been sitting on your doorstep in the drizzle for forty-five minutes, waiting for you to come home."
"How did you know I was home? Why didn't you wait in your car?"
"I had to park three blocks away thanks to that open house down the street. I rang the bell when I saw the lights come on. Where did you park?"
"The garage is reached through the back lane." Up on her tiptoes, she kissed him shyly. "I'm glad you didn't wait," she murmured. "I don't think I could have waited another week to see you. Let me go, Cal, and I'll get packed. I don't need dinner and dancing and flowers, and I never eat chocolate. Is there still enough daylight for us to make it back to the lake this evening?"
He stepped away from her and shrugged out of his wet jacket, hanging it on the brass coat stand by the door. "You didn't hear what I said, did you? I didn't come to take you back up to the lake for the weekend. I've changed my plans. I've moved the kids into my house and we'll stay there until their school reopens."
Her eyes widened. "But—"
He shut her mouth with one finger, lips curved into a satisfied smile, dark eyes soft and glowing. "But nothing. I need to be near you. The kids think it's a great idea. They've got a million plans just for the weekend. Dinner at McDonald's tonight with every friend they could reach this afternoon by phone, to catch up on all the latest kid gossip. They've been out of touch for nearly three weeks, an eternity to them. My treat, I told them. I'm buying their loyalty, to say nothing of their absence, so I can have a private dinner with you."
Judy Gill Page 11