by Kris Pearson
Anton held her close as she sobbed and laughed in a small frenzy of hysteria. Minutes later, she fell quiet. “The story of my life,” she murmured. “More than you bargained for, I expect. Got anything to beat it?”
He grimaced, thinking about what she’d bravely confessed to him.
She’s still joking about it. Still putting on a front. Maybe I haven’t helped her at all? Maybe I’ve just made things worse?
“Nothing along those lines. I shouldn’t have forced you to tell me.”
“You didn’t know what to expect. And maybe you were right about getting it out in the open. I was far too young to deal with it at nine. And then I lost Mom and Dad, so I had other stuff to cope with at fifteen.”
“And after that?”
“Huh!” She gave a short, mirthless laugh.
Anton pressed his lips together, wondering how to translate that. Not with a full recovery, by the sound of things. But the intimacy of their situation, in the near darkness, skin against skin, made confessions easier.
Jetta sucked in a deep, deep breath and blew it out again. “I may as well tell you the last bit and get it all over with,” she said in a very small voice. “I was always petrified of boys. You find ways to not be alone with them, and not feel threatened. I got by. But as soon as I went flatting I really, really wanted to get my life together. Reclaim my female mojo,” she added, bitterness still very evident.
She pushed herself out of his embrace and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Anton let her slide away, knowing she was calmer now, and no longer likely to bolt from the bed.
“I can’t tell you this while you’re hugging me,” she said, desperation making her voice shake again. “You’ll be disgusted.”
“Try me,” he said, attempting to sound non-committal, and having no idea what to expect.
“You’ll be disgusted,” she muttered again, turning so her back was to him in the dim room. “I didn’t want to be left out. Hallie and Bren had boyfriends, had sex and talked about it, were normal girls...”
“So you gave it a go and didn’t like it?” he hazarded.
“I didn’t even remember it. I chose a boy at a party we had, and got quite drunk to get my courage up. All I can recall was feeling squashed and helpless. And sore. And stupid.”
“Yeah—not the best solution,” was all he could say. Poor kid. She’d made it worse for herself, not better. “You need to have some emotional connection to the person. Girls do, especially.”
“Like you and Claire?”
He snorted with surprise. “Claire? Never in a million years. Claire’s nice enough—great looks, I admit, but she’d drive me mad in a week. She’s after Paul.”
“But...I saw you kissing her...next door—a few days before you dropped your demolition bombshell.”
A smug little frisson of warmth tickled his weary spirits. Jetta sounded put out. Almost jealous. Given he’d spent the week keeping his distance, that was gratifying. “Probably the other way around. Claire kisses everyone.”
“Mmmm. She kissed me, now I think about it.”
“Not a kiss,” he said. “A silly affectation.” He cursed inwardly as his groin responded to thoughts of kissing Jetta. Things had to stay businesslike between them. Because of the house. Because of whatever family link there might be. But...
“This is more my idea of a kiss,” he said, moving over her in the near darkness, sliding a hand up her arm to turn her toward him, and settling his lips on hers.
He meant it to be—he swore he meant it to be—a sweet and sinless sign of affection. Nothing more. But her lips were soft and responsive, and clung to his just a second too long to be truly innocent.
He groaned as he pulled away and retreated to the furthest cold reaches of the bed. Hot lust raced through his veins. The wanting simmering just below the surface boiled over and scalded him, sending needle sharp torture along every nerve.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” he said in a voice husky with need. “Sorry. Bad night—get some sleep.” He knew his own chances of sleeping were now next to nil.
Jetta raised her fingers and touched her too-sensitive lips. She could easily imagine his mouth still on hers, his tongue teasing her lips apart and the kiss becoming deeper and more passionate.
She wished it had.
The horrible night, the shocking danger of the fire, the loss of her possessions, the gut-wrenching emotion of confessing her deepest darkest problem, had all combined to make life so precious. Now she wanted to live to the full, experience everything it had to offer. Surely Anton would be gentle, and try not to frighten her after what she’d told him?
She turned on her side, desiring more than the brief touch of his lips on hers. Already she missed his skin. Wanted his arms around her again. Knew she was willing to grant him power over her. If he tangled his long legs through hers, and held her down as he had earlier, perhaps that was the price she had to pay for the pleasure and freedom that might follow?
She reached out a tentative hand. Where had he gone?
The bed seemed vast. She raised her head and saw his silhouette on the far side. With extreme caution, she slid and wriggled across until his body heat was a tangible thing, warming her from a tiny distance away. Then she extended her hand until it hit bare flesh.
He flinched. Maybe she heard him draw in a fast breath but he made no other sound. Surely he’d registered the mattress dipping as she crept across to him? And hadn’t tried to stop her?
Barely believing she had the courage, she edged closer, and stroked to and fro over the piece of him she’d landed on. His waist—because her fingers hit the edge of his pajama pants. He felt a hundred degrees hot, and as smooth as velvet.
“Are you asking for trouble?” he muttered, his voice a soft growl, almost animal.
The delicious thrill of what ‘trouble’ might mean arrowed down until it settled between her thighs, pulsing and fluttering, wanting to be set free.
She edged forward and pressed a kiss on his spine. This time she definitely heard his indrawn breath, but he stayed unmoving.
“Maybe?” she whispered.
He gave a very resigned-sounding sigh.
“You pick your moments, don’t you? I’m lying here so hard I’m in pain, but this is not the time for it, babes. You’re probably still in shock. You’re pumped full of adrenalin. You’re stone cold sober but hyped to hell.”
She kissed his warm back again, and then licked up and down over several of the fascinating bumps of his spine.
“God...you’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” he groaned, rolling over and pinning her underneath him. “Feel what you’ve done to me? Hmmm?”
He gave a small thrust of his hips, and Jetta certainly could feel what she’d done to him.
“Sorry,” she said in a small voice, secretly thrilled.
“There’s nothing I’d like more than to hump you into next Sunday, filthy and tired as I am. But it’s not what you need, whatever you might think.”
His silhouette loomed above her. She knew where his mouth must be, so she stretched up and found it with hers. His lips parted on a gasp, and then pulled away. For long moments they remained frozen, then he sighed and dipped his head again until he found her. Groaning, he pressed her down into the pillow, biting at her softly.
Jetta parted her lips, seeing the beautiful shape of his mouth so clearly in her mind. The sharp bow of his top lip. The warm full cushion below.
The sensation of his flesh brushing over hers, lifting, returning, was accompanied by his hand sliding up her neck, his thumb tilting her chin and tipping her head to the exact angle he wanted it. He held her there as if she might wish to escape. Not a chance! And he deepened his kiss, cursing at her in the darkness, sliding his tongue over hers, and drawing in desperate breaths as he kissed her and kissed her until her whole body buzzed and hummed with pleasure.
“No more,” he grated, deserting her mouth for her neck. He pressed a hot open- mouth
ed kiss below her ear, then lower and lower until he reached the junction of her neck and shoulder.
He bit her, not softly. His whole big body trembled with barely leashed power and the last vestiges of restraint. “We’re not doing this,” he said. “Not now, for sure. Maybe tomorrow when things are somewhere near normal, we can talk about it...”
He laved over the bite with his tongue.
Jetta was so far from wanting to talk about anything that she groaned with frustration and wriggled against him.
“Forget it!” he snapped. “Be pleased I can still stop. You deserve better than this.”
And somehow he rolled, taking her with him and tucking her into the curve of his body so her back pressed against his hard chest, and her butt felt exactly how aroused he was. Her only consolation was one of his big hands cradling her breast, thumb running over and over her nipple through the fine cotton of her nightgown. “Sleep,” he instructed. “No more funny business.”
Somehow, overwhelmed and exhausted, she did sleep.
And woke on Friday morning disoriented, in the wrong bed in the wrong room, and surrounded by the acrid stink of wet ashes.
Anton pushed the door open as she struggled back to consciousness. He was suited and shaved, and looking so distant that last night’s ferocious embrace might only have been in her imagination. He held a mug of coffee in each hand. “Morning,” he said, setting hers down.
He sat on the bed far enough away to be downright unfriendly, and she pushed herself up, tucked the sheet firmly over her breasts, and eyed him with suspicion. This wasn’t what she’d expected.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “At least they saved the rest of the house, so things could be worse.”
“Easy for you to say—your room’s not a soggy mess.”
“True,” he conceded. “And even though I got that door closed again damn fast, the fire smell is all through the place.”
“Yes, I’m okay.”
Or I can pretend to be until I know how things really stand between us.
“I presume you’re taking the day off work?” He sipped his coffee. “There are things in your room that need salvaging.”
“Are you going into town?”
Duh! Of course he is. Dressed like that.
“Only for a couple of hours. I’ll be back well before eleven to give you a hand. I’ve ordered another dumpster so we can get rid of the worst of the mess.”
She nodded, and the silence stretched out too far.
“About last night,” they said in unison.
He held out a hand in a ‘you first’ gesture.
This was difficult. There was so much she wanted to say. So much she wanted to know. And so much she didn’t dare ask with him looking daunting in his business tycoon disguise, avoiding her eyes, sitting miles away.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she said. “You’ll never know how grateful I am. How’s your shoulder?”
He softened enough to give her half a grin.
“Damn sore. You owe me.”
“Anything you want.”
“Yeeeahhh,” he said, stretching the word out so it hung on and on between them. “That’s the other thing we need to talk about.”
No! She saw her best ever chance of gaining her sexual confidence slipping like sand through her fingers. How could she impress upon him how shockingly important it was to her?
“Please?” she asked, eyes prickling with unshed tears. “Please, Anton.” The hot drops brimmed over and slid down her cheeks, and she dashed them away with her fingers, furious with herself for being so undisciplined. “This isn’t meant to be a damned sympathy request,” she added. “You’d be kind to me, gentle with me after what I told you. In some ways that would be even more valuable than being rescued from the fire.”
He sat, silent for too long, not looking at her. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers; blue eyes that were both weary and wary now.
“I’m no doctor,” he said, “but you’ve still got to be in shock and a long way from your normal self. We’ll see how you feel tonight.”
Jetta nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She picked up her coffee and gazed down into it before she raised it to her lips.
“Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
We’re as stiff and starchy as a pair of strangers. How did I ever think this would work?
“I’ve just checked that latch you put on your bedroom door,” he said in a tight voice. “I’m kicking myself! You’ve got the two sides out of line. No wonder you couldn’t get it open. Why the hell didn’t you let me do it for you?”
She glanced up at him again, and saw how real his anger was. His beautiful lips pressed together, almost white. His eyes narrowed with fury. A patch of color blazed high on each cheekbone. Then his emotions got the better of him. “You could have died!” he yelled.
She jumped, slopping her coffee over the sheet to join the streaks of ash and smears of blood. “I didn’t want to ask.”
“You wouldn’t ask me for a bit of basic carpentry but you’d ask me for sex?”
“I did not ask you for sex. I asked you for some kindness.”
“I’d rather you’d asked me to check your carpentry,” he grated, running a hand back through his hair, messing its thick softness into furrows.
She shrugged. “Too late now. The damage is done.”
“I don’t want to do any more damage—to you.”
“You won’t damage me. I trust you. Look what happened last night?”
“How could I forget? You’re lucky I had that much self-control. You’re a hot little package, Jetta. Don’t go trying that with anyone else.”
“As if I’d get the opportunity...”
His words sank in an instant later. A hot little package. So he found her attractive, even though he was furious she’d disregarded her safety. So there might yet be room to negotiate?
“I won’t go in to work today,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. “I’ll ring. They’ll understand after last night. Lots of people are still on holiday anyway—like your wretched lawyers.”
Anton tilted his mug and gulped the last of his coffee. He stood.
“How bad is my room?” Jetta asked as he started to leave.
“Bad enough. Mostly the end wall, of course. The bed’s done for. The wardrobe doors were shut, so...?”
“So maybe some of my clothes will survive?”
“They’ll stink of smoke. You’ll have to get them dry-cleaned. I hope you’re insured?”
She watched as he pulled the door open and then half closed it. His swift steps progressed along the timber floor of the hallway, followed by the jingle of car keys and the hollow thud of the front door closing.
She sat on in silence, sipping her coffee, thinking the last of her childhood and family memories had probably disappeared in the flames. How could you insure that?
Her eyes settled on the big white robe hanging on the back of the door. She stripped off her smudged and crumpled nightdress and held the robe to her face. Anton’s lemony cologne teased her nose.
She had the ideal excuse to borrow it, so she slipped her arms down the sleeves and pulled the belt tight. It would be wonderful to have Anton wrapped around her like his robe. Maybe tonight?
She padded out to the laundry, searching for anything more suitable to wear, and found a pair of jeans, and shorts and panties, and several clean T-shirts, too. She chose the darkest.
But it was nice wearing his robe. She drifted around the bedroom, thinking of the way he’d kissed her. Or rather, the way he’d not been able to resist kissing her. Yes, it had been frightening pinned under his long heavy body, but she’d felt so desperately wound up that making the first move—reaching across the bed and touching him—had been out of her conscious control. She’d confessed her inhibitions, let him know she trusted him, and hoped he would be her teacher.
Poor guy—what a responsibility I’ve thrown at him!
S
he pulled the front of his robe up to her nose and sniffed once more before regretfully untying it and sliding it off, imagining his fingers stroking and feathering over her. But it would be quite another thing to have it happen for real.
Once she was dressed in shorts and T-shirt, she pulled back the duvet, stripped the bed, and took the sheets to the laundry. She squeezed stain remover over the smears of blood and ash and set them to soak before searching for fresh ones.
She remade the bed, taking special care, smoothing the fresh sheets out, folding one over the top edge of the duvet with precision. She changed the pillowcases for a crisp new pair, setting the pillows exactly level, and imagining her body entwined with Anton’s. How badly had he hurt his shoulder breaking down her door?
Then the shock hit her. She could have been dead. Should have been dead. If it hadn’t been for him, she would have been.
Delayed reaction, she thought, shivering, and dropping onto the bed when her knees really didn’t want to hold her up any longer. It had been the same after her parents’ road smash. She’d been gently told about it, and seen the hideous wreckage on the TV news that night (much to Gran and Grandpa’s ire) but it wasn’t until the next morning the truth had sunk in.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, she murmured, rocking backward and forward with distress, crushing the beautifully made bed.
If only there wasn’t so much mystery hanging between her and Anton. Gran’s house already bore the scars of their battle—the demolished fence, the burned out room, the roughly installed extra door.
And there was still the question of his parentage. No matter how hard Jetta combed through her memory, she couldn’t recall anyone mentioning him or his mother. But if he wasn’t related, why did he think owned half her house?
And if he was related—closely—that wrecked her plans for any intimate games tonight.
She rose slowly to her feet, testing her balance before stepping away from the bed. Grimacing at the creases, she began to smooth the layers out again.
Anton flung the silver Porsche around the streets with more recklessness than was probably wise. Jetta had sneaked under his skin. Right into his head to mess with his brain. She’d offered herself on a plate, for the most unlikely of reasons, and he’d been far too tempted. For years, he’d avoided major entanglements, driven by fierce ambition to overcome his less than fortunate start in life. He had things to show the world, and being tied down by a woman wasn’t part of the picture.