“Hey, Ian, heard you were back.” Roger shifted uncomfortably. “Long time no see. How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
Cara sucked in her breath as Ian scooped her into his arms and pulled her back onto the dance floor, leaving Roger behind, talking to himself.
“That was rude,” she said in her most proper Miss Manners tone.
“You should be thanking me.” He smiled tightly at Madge and Walt, who danced by, cheek-to-cheek. “I saved your butt from that jerk.”
Quite literally, Cara thought. “I thought he was sweet.”
When Ian choked, she slid her arm over his shoulder and patted him on the back. “And very good-looking, too,” she added. If you go for the Lounge Lizard types.
“Sweet, huh? Good-looking?” He studied her for a moment, then raised one dark brow. “Well, how ‘bout we just dance right back over there and I give you back to him?”
She slid her other arm around him, leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Do it and you die, buster.”
He laughed softly in her ear, and she felt his body relax against hers. He pulled her closer, held her tight as they swayed to the music, a slow, sexy song about love and seduction.
She rested her cheek on his chest, wondered if she was the cause of his heart beating so heavily against her ear. Her own heart was beating fast, and her bones felt soft.
“So why do you dislike Roger so much?” She sucked in a slow, deep breath as Ian’s hands slid down to the small of her back. “Did he steal your girl in the seventh grade?”
“Roger was a bully,” Ian said dryly. “He tormented all the girls.”
“You’re a bully.” Cara brushed her fingers over his collar and through the ends of his hair. “And you torment women. Especially me.”
He sighed and pulled her closer. “Not half as much as you torment me, sweetheart.”
Cara had the distinct feeling he wasn’t teasing, and that his words spoke of a torment that had nothing to do with her badgering him to come to Philadelphia. He spoke of something deeper, and of a distinctly sexual nature.
That was there between them, she acknowledged. It had been there from the beginning. She’d tried to deny it, then tried to ignore it. But neither approach was her style. She’d always faced her problems head-on. And that’s exactly what Ian was, she thought with a sigh. A problem.
A very big one.
She refused to think about that now. She was having a good time. Whatever came tomorrow, she’d deal with that head-on, too.
When several guests clinked their glasses with silverware, signaling for the dancing bride and groom to kiss, the entire room cheered them on. When little Drew ran over to his mom and dad, they picked him up and kissed him, too.
Cara looked up at Ian and saw him watching Nick and Maggie and Drew. “You don’t get it, do you?” she asked.
He glanced back at her. “Get what?”
“All this. Weddings, marriage, children.”
“What makes you say that?”
She smiled. “You have an expression of complete bewilderment on your face when you look at Nick and Maggie, or Lucas and Julianna. You’re baffled by it all.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The song switched to a livelier beat, but he still held her close. “They’re my best friends. I’m happy for them.”
“Of course you’re happy for them,” she said. “But you don’t understand it.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. Lucas was always driven by his work. Nick was, well, Nick wasn’t the type to settle down.”
“And what type is it that settles down?” she asked.
He thought about that for a moment. “Dependable, reliable. Safe.” A smile slowly tipped up one corner of his mouth. “Simpleminded, impulsive. Illogical.”
She lifted one brow. “And you’re none of those things, of course.”
“Of course.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he twirled her sharply, then dipped her back. She couldn’t help but laugh at his unexpected playfulness, and when he pulled her back into his arms and held her close, she allowed herself to relax, gave herself up to the moment and the pleasure of being in his arms without arguing.
She snuggled against him, breathed in the spicy scent of his aftershave and the red carnation in his boutonniere. His chest felt solid under the palms of her hands, and the heat of his skin drifted through his tuxedo into her fingertips, up her arms and through her body.
She wasn’t certain when the warm, relaxed sensation curling through her body shifted to something else. Something tighter, something sharper and intense.
He felt it, too. She was certain of it. The tension wound itself like a living thing around them, coiled like a snake, vibrated like an electric current. His hands were warm on her back, his fingers rough and callused on her bare skin. She was certain it was accidental, but his lips brushed her temple. She shuddered involuntarily, then cursed the longing that shimmered through her body.
They were surrounded by other couples, but Cara felt as if they were the only two people in the room, in the world.
For at least thirty seconds.
She felt herself wrenched from Ian’s arms and pulled into Lucas’s embrace.
“My turn, Shawnessy.” Lucas whirled her away. Ian frowned fiercely and started after them, only to be waylaid by a buxom blonde in the shortest, tightest red dress that Cara had ever seen.
“Uh-oh. Mary Anne’s got her claws into him now.” Lucas grinned broadly. “If he makes it out alive, Stephanie will most likely finish him off.”
“MaryAnne?” Cara felt her own claws come out as the blonde slipped her arms around Ian’s neck. “Stephanie?”
“MaryAnne Johnson and Stephanie Roberts. They hunt as a pack. One of them distracts and corners, then the other one pounces. Not a pretty sight. Ah, there comes Stephanie now.”
Cara watched as a plump redhead in a low-cut, sequined gown bounced over to Ian and shrieked a welcome, practically pushing the blonde out of the way.
“You’re supposed to be his friend.” Cara tried not to laugh at the look of panic on Ian’s face. “Why don’t you go help him?”
“He’s a big boy.” Lucas turned her smoothly. “Besides, they’ll keep him busy while we talk.”
“Talk?” Cara looked warily at Lucas. “Talk about what?”
“About why both you and Ian have been lying to everyone.” He kept his gaze steady with hers. “About who you really are and why you’re here.”
She stumbled, but he caught her and held her steady. She could lie, pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. But as she stared at him for a long moment, saw the concern in his dark eyes, the love, she knew she couldn’t lie. He deserved better than that.
“I haven’t lied about who I am,” she said carefully. “I—we—only lied about having a relationship and about caring for each other.” She glanced over at Ian, almost felt sorry for him as the two women both insisted on dancing with him at the same time.
She looked back at Lucas. “But as for the reason I’m here, you’ll have to ask Ian that question. Only he can give you the answer.”
Lucas nodded. “All right, that’s fair enough. But you’re still not being honest with me.”
Confused, she frowned at him. “I don’t understand.”
“You said you were both pretending to care for each other, and that, my dear Miss Sinclair, is a lie in itself. You do care, very much. And so does Ian. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.”
She stared at him, too stunned to reply. Dear Lord, was it so obvious, at least on her part, that she’d fallen for Ian?
Because she had. Hopelessly and foolishly. And it seemed as though everyone else knew it, too.
She looked sharply at Ian; he was staring hard at her. She felt her cheeks flame. Did he know, as well? Did he think her one more silly bimbo who melted at the knees when he simply glanced her way?
“Excuse me.” She stepped away
from Lucas. “I think I need a little air.”
He put a hand on her arm. “Cara, I’m sorry, I—”
Forcing a smile, she shook her head. “You and Julianna have been terrific, and I thank you for your hospitality last night. But I’ll be leaving tomorrow after I pick up my car from Walt. Ian and I won’t be seeing each other again after that.”
When she spotted Ian making his way toward her across the crowded dance floor, she turned and headed in the opposite direction.
After tomorrow she’d have all the space she’d need between her and Ian, but for now the ladies’ room would have to do.
Nine
It was past midnight when Ian parked the truck in front of the cabin. He’d considered spending the night at the Four Winds; Lucas had even offered rooms for both him and Cara. But Ian had wanted to spend his last night in Wolf River in the mountains. His next assignment would be a grueling three months, living in a one-bedroom apartment with two other men. It was going to be a long time before he’d see a pine tree or lake again, and he wanted to savor the last few hours he had left up here.
He glanced over at Cara, saw her staring wistfully out the truck window at the lake. A full moon shone down from a clear, star-filled sky and cast silver sparkles over the water.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
You’re beautiful, he thought. Moonlight washed over her face, emphasized the delicate curve of her cheek and jaw. Several golden curls tumbled loose from their pins and spilled onto her long neck. He ached to bury his hands into those silken strands, to taste her one last time.
Clenching his jaw, he got out of the truck and came around to open her door. She stepped out, and his gaze followed the slender curve of one leg, from her ankle all the way up to the hem of her dress, which had risen dangerously high on her smooth thighs as she slid from the seat.
He nearly moaned at the sight, and knew it was going to be a long night.
A chivalrous man would have offered his hand and helped her across the gravel walkway, but he was feeling anything but chivalrous at the moment. What he felt bordered on something closer to savage.
He heard the crunch of gravel as she trailed behind him, unsteady in her heels as she picked her way to the porch. The scent of pine filled the warm night air, and a chorus of frogs and crickets echoed off the lake.
Ian opened the door and held it for Cara, but she shook her head as she leaned against the porch rail and pulled off her shoes. “You go on. I think I’ll stay out here a little while.”
“I’ll just say good-night, then.”
“Good-night.”
Turning, he stepped into the darkness of the cabin, barely able to control the urge to kick something.
“Ian?”
“What?” He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but he had. When he glanced back over his shoulder at her, she stood facing him, a silhouette in the moonlight.
“Thank you for tonight. I had a nice time.” She hesitated, and he saw her shoulders rise and fall with her sigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bother to you, but I’m not sorry I came here. I’d do it all again in a second. Well, except for maybe the part when you tied me up and dumped me in the bathtub.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “That was my favorite part.”
“Is that so?” She pointed one high heel at him, and he was glad it wasn’t loaded. “Mine was the look of sheer terror on your face when you were holding the babies. Imagine a big, strong man like you afraid of something so sweet and cuddly. I’ll bet kittens and puppies make you shake in your boots, too.”
“They’re right up there with half-naked women wielding frying pans,” he added.
She laughed softly and shook her head, but remembering that night, and what had happened, took their light banter into another direction entirely, turned the mood into something completely different.
It felt as if the night air were suddenly pressing in on him, cutting off his breath, as if a steel band were closing around his chest, squeezing tighter and tighter.
He knew he had to leave. Now.
“Good-night, Blondie.”
“Good-night, Shawnessy.”
He made it to the doorway, then stopped. And turned back around to face her.
Her arms were at her sides, each hand holding a shoe. Her green silk dress shimmered in the moonlight, hugged her slender body like a second skin. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew she was watching him. Waiting.
He moved slowly toward her, stopped inches away and stared down at her.
Somewhere, in the distance, a lone coyote howled.
“Cara,” he whispered her name, heard the anguish in his own voice.
She sighed, lifted her face to his. “I know, Ian.”
He reached out, touched her cheek with his fingertips. Her skin was so soft, so smooth. How he wanted this woman. Like he’d never wanted another woman before. The desperation he felt frightened as much as it angered.
“This won’t change anything,” he said tightly. “You have to understand that.”
The shoes she held dropped to the porch. Her eyes closed as she pressed her cheek into the palm of his hand. “Just kiss me, Ian,” she whispered. “Please.”
Her quiet plea snapped the last of his control. He felt the low, strangled moan deep in his throat as he caught her mouth with his. She opened to him, met the forceful thrust of his tongue with her own velvet heat. Her arms wound around his shoulders and she clung to him, kissed him back with a passion that he’d known was there all along.
She tasted like chocolate and mint, a heady combination that had him deepening the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, frantic to have her closer. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, made his blood race and his heart pound.
Lifting her off her feet, he carried her inside. His mouth never left hers as he kicked the door closed, then pressed her back against the smooth, hard wood.
The hunger for her gripped him painfully. His mouth slanted over hers again and again, and she answered, sliding her body sensually, erotically against his in a rhythm that matched the thrust of his tongue.
“Touch me,” she demanded on a ragged breath. “I need your hands on me. Everywhere.”
Her words inflamed him, seared his blood and pounded through his body. “Don’t worry about that, darlin’,” he said roughly, wanting nothing more than to do exactly as she asked, frustrated that he couldn’t touch her everywhere at once.
He slid her dress upward, and she gasped when he slipped his hands underneath. Her stockings ended at the tops of her thighs, held there by a band of lace and satin. The separation between cool silk and warm skin fascinated as much as it excited.
He pressed her firmly against the wall, slid his hands around her buttocks as he lifted her off the floor. He felt the soft texture of her lace panties under his rough fingers. “Wrap your legs around me.”
She did as he asked, tightening her arms around his neck as she wound her long, sleek legs around his waist. Their bodies pressed intimately together, his arousal nestled firmly between her legs. On a moan, her head fell back against the door, and he nuzzled her ear while he slipped the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders.
Moonlight spilled in from the windows, casting a silver glow over the room. He could hear the distant hum of the refrigerator and the sound of their own heavy breathing.
“I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.” He felt her shudder when he nipped at her neck. “I thought I’d go crazy if I didn’t have you.”
“You have me.” She sucked in a breath when his mouth moved downward to the soft swell of her breast. Her fingers raked through his hair. “You have me,” she repeated, her voice hoarse and uneven.
Her surrender pleasured him on a masculine level as much as it did the physical. He wanted to possess this woman completely. Her mind, her body, even her soul. If only for this night, he wanted—needed—her to be his alone.
Because it was difficult to t
hink, Cara simply let herself feel. The sensations hammered her: his callused hands on her skin, his hot mouth on her breast, the hard ridge of his arousal rocking between her legs. The tension coiled inside her, tighter, then tighter still, and she wondered if it were truly possible to die from the need burning inside her. When he nuzzled the silk neckline of her dress lower and clamped onto her nipple through the thin white lace of her strapless bra, she cried out and was certain that a person could in fact die from this much pleasure.
“Ian.” She buried her fingers in his hair. “Please.”
His mouth swooped back to hers, and he folded her in his arms, carried her into the bedroom. They made the long, dangerous fall to the bed together, rolled in each other’s arms until he lay under her.
“Now I’ve got you where I want you, Shawnessy,” she said in a breathless tease. “Don’t you dare move.”
The bedroom was bright with moonlight, and she could see him clearly. She straddled him, reached for the zipper at the back of her dress while keeping her gaze steady with his. His expression was fierce, his eyes narrowed and dark as he watched her.
She pulled the dress slowly over her head, let the silk slide soundlessly from her hand into a pool at the foot of the bed.
“Your hair,” he murmured. “I want it down.”
Lifting her arms, she tugged the pins loose and let her hair fall in a tumbled mass around her shoulders. With her eyes still locked to his, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. It fell to the floor with her dress. His chest rose and fell heavily as he stared at her. His face was like granite, his eyes smoldered. He started to reach for her, but she smiled softly and shook her head.
“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” she reprimanded and pushed his hands back to his sides. “Now be still.”
She started with the top button of his shirt, slowly worked her way down to the waistband of his trousers before sliding her hands back up again over his flat, hard stomach and broad, muscled chest. His body was like liquid steel, a warrior’s body. Strong and powerful. Rugged. The realization that he was hers, completely hers, gave her a sense of power she’d never known before, made her brave and daring. A warrior’s woman, she thought with a smile.
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