Lane listened to her father. "No, Papa, I can't just walk right back into my old life. It's over." They'd had this same conversation off and on for nearly two years now.
"Mio cuore, no. That's not so."
Her throat tightened. It had been difficult to admit that her career, her name, had been destroyed in one fell swoop. Surely even her father had to see it would take more than coming back and picking up her drawing pencils.
"Until Angel stops hanging out with those men, goes to the FBI and tells them what he knows about any deals he's been hatching, I won't even consider coming back. I don't want to come back," she said.
"You cannot tell me you are happy in that little town."
She glanced toward the partially open doorway and imagined Tyler beyond it. "Today, yes, very."
"You're give up designing forever?"
"I can't predict the future, Papa. But Dan Jacobs is looking for me – you said so yourself last time you called that he's still prying."
"But the talk has died."
"And coming back will bring it up again. I'm not ready to fight that." Her eyes burned and she rubbed her forehead again, pain drilling a hole in the back of her skull. If he kept saying the same things each time he called, why did he bother? Didn't he remember the photos in the tabloids of her in various states of dress, the panic and stress when her show fell into ruin? Or the horrible things they'd said about him? Even the transcript of her sister's divorce hearing was printed!
"Angelo is sorry."
"Angel isn't sorry for anyone but himself, Papa. Is he being hounded by reporters, too?"
"His new friends keep them away."
"I'll bet. What is he doing gambling in Vegas with those … hoods?"
Bastian Giovanni released a long sigh and Lane could imagine him reaching for the bowl of wine corks and fiddling with them. He always toyed with them when he was frustrated. "He won't tell me. He says they are just friends, nothing more. He keeps asking me to trust him."
"And you are. Don't deny it, if he were my child, I'd probably give him the benefit of the doubt first, too." She looked at the door. "I have to go, Papa. I have a guest."
"A man? Make nice with him. You need to give me grandchildren, Elaina."
She smiled. "You want to tell me exactly what 'making nice' means again, Papa?"
He tsked softly and she knew his mood was lightening. "Such sarcasm from my favorite child."
Lane closed her eyes. "I have to go. I love you, Papa."
"I love you, too, my heart," he said.
"And, Papa?"
"Yes?"
"Please don't badger me about coming home. I've been getting enough badgering lately," she said with a glance toward the door. "And this is my home now." She heard her father's long-suffering sigh before he agreed and hung up.
Lane put the phone back in the cradle, her fingers trailing over it. She missed him. She missed her brothers and sister.
Lane rejoined Tyler in the shop. "I'm sorry about that."
"Don't be. I didn't know you could speak Italian so well."
Panic shot across her face. "Do you?"
"Not a word."
Her shoulders sagged with relief. "One of those boarding schools was in Italy," she said.
It wasn't a lie. She'd spend summers at home with her father, but school was a different story. Papa had always been busy with the winery, and her mother had been just plain busy.
"Want to go to the concert?" he asked. "It's about to start."
"I don't think I'm up to it."
"Well, it looks like that phone call didn't go well, so why not? The concert will take your mind off it."
Lane met his gaze, and inside, her emotions yanked up a ladder she wasn't ready to climb. How could her father think she'd return when Dan Jacobs was so intent on finding her that he'd gone to Italy to hound her father? What did Dan want from her? He'd already taken away everything she'd loved. No, she couldn't go back, even if talk died. She was just too weary of it all.
Lane wasn't even aware that Tyler had maneuvered her to the staircase leading to her apartment above until the lock clicked closed.
He handed her the keys. She looked around. He'd locked all the doors, lights were out.
"I have to watch you all the time, don't I?" she said.
He smiled. "I wish you would." He opened the door to the mudroom, which was now her private foyer, and nudged her toward the polished, curved staircase. "I know when I'm beat. You're practically asleep right now."
"I can manage the rest alone."
"I know you can. I'm walking you up to the door."
Lane shook her head, climbing the staircase and feeling every minute of the day in the cells of her body. They were screaming for a hot bath and sleep.
At the top landing, Tyler looked around. There was a small sitting area at the end of the hall near a window, plants hiding the view from the street. There had once been four separate rooms up here. Now the walls on one side of the hall had been knocked out, opening the areas for living, dining and a small kitchen. It was furnished like something out of a magazine. Rich fabrics draped the windows and pooled on the floor, and there were wrought-iron fixtures, as well as crystal, and antiques rested alongside polished oak tables. Everything was textured, overstuffed, designed for comfort.
The apartment looked lived in and cozy.
"I like this," he said. "You interested in doing up my place?"
Lane smiled and sagged against the wall. "No. Go home, Tyler."
"Not going to show me around?"
"Living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, guest room," she said pointing sluggishly in the general direction.
He chuckled and stepped close. "Aren't you glad tomorrow is Sunday?
"Thrilled beyond belief." Today had been more tiring than a design show. And those had been nuts.
"Are you going to the sailing races tomorrow?"
"Gee, not on my to-do list."
"Kyle and I are sailing."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"It's a tradition. McKays have been in every regatta since the first one. We've never actually won a race, but we've been there."
He was inches from her, and as tired as she was, a part of Lane was screaming for his attention. "You want me to come watch you sail? Is this like watching a jock practice football?"
He brushed the back of his hand lightly across her cheek. "Sorta." Her hair had come undone and was falling around her shoulders. It was glorious, deep, blood-red fire, and the sight of it turned him on.
"You have enough groupies."
"Do not."
"Not enough groupies? Or no groupies at all?" she countered.
He had to think for a second and she laughed lightly.
"Neither," he said. "Because you're the only one who matters."
"This week."
He reared back, searching her features, her eyes. "If you think that's the case, Lane, then we need to get better acquainted." He paused and then in a hurt voice said, "You really believe that?"
"I've been trying hard to." She sighed and something inside her conceded another battle. She was really hopeless when it came to this man. "You're not an easy guy to resist, Tyler McKay."
He insinuated his knee between her thighs and pressed her to the wall. "Then stop trying."
His mouth was on hers before she could speak, taking, nibbling, the power of the kiss growing stronger by the second. Her insides unwound and she felt as if she was melting into the floor. So she gripped his waist, pulling him till he mashed her to the hard surface. His mouth was everywhere, on her face, her lips, her throat. And when he dipped lower, Lane didn't stop him.
A button flipped open, then another. A second later his mouth was roaming the swells of her breasts. He left a damp, tingling path behind, and Lane gasped for air, wanting to rip the blouse and bra off and experience his mouth all over her.
"I want you," he said against her skin, then again on her mouth. "I want you badly."
"Tyler."
He met her gaze, pushing her hair back. "I know. I know you're not ready. For that. But damn, Lane, I need to touch you." His mouth closed over hers, tongue sweeping the hollow darkness, and Lane answered him. Nipping his lips and running her hand down his chest and inside his jacket.
His hand slid down her hip, her thigh, then curled behind her knee and moved upward, taking the skirt with it. He never stopped kissing her, and her mind went blank to the sensations pelting her like hot rain. He squeezed her thigh, and his knee spread her thighs a little wider. When his fingers met the top of one of her stockings, he drew back, arching a brow.
"You're just full of surprises," he said. She wore stockings and a garter belt. He bet it was black and shifted his hand past, his fingertips brushing her center. The warmth of her nearly undid him.
Desire rocketed through her, weakening her resolve. And a little sound escaped her. Then his name, softly tumbling from her lips.
Then Tyler whispered huskily, "I can feel your heat." His breath was hot near her ear, and his words and touch suspended her on some cliff, teetering. "Do you know what that does to me?"
He ground against her so that she understood. Lane's heart shot to her throat as she ploughed her fingers into his hair and gave back.
He hooked the leg of her panties, his fingertips running slowly under the edge, from her behind over her hip, toward the heat of her. It was more erotic than anything she'd ever experienced. A slow temptation. But she knew Tyler – he was a gentleman. He wouldn't do anything unless she wanted him to. The simple touch was asking a question.
"Open for me, darlin'," he whispered against her mouth.
And a heartbeat later, she did.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Tyler's heart was pounding so hard it hurt. The rushing sound of his blood filled his ears, yet he understood that this moment crossed a delicate road with Lane. A road he didn't think twice about taking. He was connected to this woman, and the way his heart and mind reacted to her warned him that when he fell, he might never get back up again. She was in the blood pounding through his veins, in the thoughts careering though his mind when he slept, when he worked. And that she was in his arms, willingly and waiting for his touch, shredded everything keeping him from wanting more than this moment.
She twisted against him, his hand lying warmly low on her belly, his fingertips beneath the edge of her silk panties. He dipped and brushed over her center, and her kiss grew stronger.
She shifted, straddled his thigh, her skirt hiked and her body open. And he realized he was trembling a little. He broke the kiss, staring into her eyes.
She whispered his name, a sharp edge to it, pleading.
He slid his finger smoothly over her heat, and her eyes slammed shut. Her moan was low and rough, unlike the Lane he knew. The Lane who'd hide everything from him and the world beyond. She wasn't that woman anymore, and he wanted to touch and taste and be inside her. He parted her, dipping a finger inside. Finding her slick and hot, he groaned. He pushed deeper and she gasped. He stroked his finger in and out and she clawed at his shoulders.
"I love what you do to me," she whispered.
Tyler gave, ignoring the hard throb in his groin and pleasured her, watching her features, feeling every pulse of her skin beneath his fingertips. He was aware of her every nuance, her scent, in more ways than he'd been with any other woman before. She tipped her head back and swallowed rapidly, licking lips swollen from his kiss. Her features were smooth, patient, as the sensations came to her. She rushed nothing, not even this, and caught a rhythm with his touch. It was primal, erotic, and when her hand lowered to the front of his trousers, molding the shape of him, Tyler nearly took her to the floor, he wanted to be inside her so badly. Instead, he pushed deeper, blocking any thought except one from her mind. Pleasure.
His own arousal grew painful as he watched her rise to the summit, and when he circled the bead of her sex, he whispered in her ear. "Let me see you find it. Look at me, baby."
Meeting his gaze, she gripped his shoulders, fingers sliding up his neck, then into his hair as he played her body. He plunged and stroked and she met and took, and he saw the flare of her eyes, heard her breath skip once, twice, then lock in her lungs. He smiled softly, as her feminine muscles flexed wildly. He kissed her and she released the trapped breath, trembling in his arms.
She whimpered tightly, again and again as her climax took her somewhere he wanted to go, and he whispered, "Take it all, all." And held her tightly till she sagged against him.
"No more."
"There's always more." He stroked the sensitive bead at her center and she shivered against him.
She laughed shortly. "Oh, goody."
"That was incredible to see," he said, his arousal pulsing for release he wouldn't take. Not tonight.
She buried her face in the curve of his neck, embarrassed. "I can't believe we did that."
"I can. You finally let me in."
Her head jerked up and she met his gaze.
"I don't know why you hide yourself, Lane, but I see it."
His words should have warned her, but she ignored the warning, trying to catch her breath and still sinking down to earth on a soft cloud.
"And instead of my dreams haunting me with what making love to you might be like, I have that to keep me company."
She blinked. "You dream of me. Of us?"
"Oh, yeah. It was bad before. Now it's going to be torture."
Lane didn't think she could be more stunned. Or more pleased. She'd given him absolutely no reason to think she wanted more, and here he was, making her feel incredibly sexy and wanted. And touching her. Oh, my, the man could touch, she thought, kissing him softly.
Then Tyler lifted her in his arms. She yelped and he kissed her as he carried her into the living room. Gently he laid her on the sofa, making her scoot over so he could sit on the edge. Her expression was clouded, her blouse open, exposing the swell of full breasts. It was another thing she'd hidden. Her body. Tyler knew better now.
"I'm not staying, so get that panicked look off your face," he said.
She arched a brow.
"Don't get me wrong, baby," he said in a low voice. "I want to strip you down to your skin right now and taste every inch of you, but I won't. We won't. Not tonight."
"That implies there'll be another night."
He smiled. "I was hoping you'd caught on to that."
The thought of being naked with Tyler, exploring each other, made her skin grow hot, and she reached for him, latching on to his jacket lapels and pulling him down to her mouth. She kissed him deeply, a sultry darkness sliding between them.
"Go with me to the Winter Ball."
"Ask me in the morning."
"Why?"
"Because right now I'd give you anything."
He smiled against her mouth, his hands swept up her waist, her rib cage, then covered her breasts. She arched into his touch as he maneuvered his hands under her bra and cupped warm skin, still kissing her.
She murmured his name as his fingers circled her nipples. Fire radiated outward, sending signals to her body she couldn't control. She wanted him, right now, and would have bared herself for more if he hadn't eased back.
He stared at her for a long moment. "I have to go." He stood, his desire for her obvious. His hands at his sides, his gaze fixed on the floor. She could hear him breathing slowly.
"Tyler."
"Shh. Don't say anything."
He clenched his hands into fists, struggling between need and common sense. Neither of them was prepared for a night in bed.
Lane would have thought he'd play the cards he held, he held a full house. But he didn't, just stood over her, motionless and breathing hard. She rose, covering herself, then swinging her legs off the sofa.
"I want more from you, Lane," he said softly, "and not just in bed."
For how long? she wondered. When he learned that she'd
been lying to him, he'd turn away, she was sure of it. "I can't give you that."
He met her gaze, his blue eyes probing. "I don't know what you're hiding, but it won't make a difference."
Her breath caught for a second. "I'm not hiding anything."
"Liar."
Her eyes flew wide. "How dare you say that!"
"Don't get all indignant. It's true or you'd tell me more about yourself. Tell me who called tonight and upset you, why you spoke in Italian." He shifted, his fingers unfurling. "I could find out on my own, anyway." He saw the panic skate across her features and knew he was right. "But I won't. Because I want you to trust me enough to confide in me."
Lane didn't say anything, because a question or denial would only prove his point. She wasn't ready to trust him that much. Playing with her body was one thing; gambling with her life and privacy was quite another.
"I told you I was patient, Lane," he said, then turned and walked to the hall. She didn't go after him, wisely staying where she was. His footsteps sounded on the staircase, and she heard the door shut softly.
Lane flopped back onto the sofa. Was she ready to trust him? What would his reaction be when he learned she'd lied to him about everything? Having an affair with Tyler McKay sounded great, but she didn't doubt that would be the extent of it. Because though she'd been wounded by Dan Jacobs's betrayal, someone had hurt Tyler. And neither of them was willing to jump into a fire again.
* * *
The next morning, Lane managed to drag herself down to the store long enough to clean it, but her thoughts weren't on the incredible profit she'd made last night, but on Tyler and how he'd made her feel, how he'd touched her so intimately.
And how he knew she wasn't telling the truth. She didn't think she could face him without choking on embarrassment after what they'd done. After what he'd done to her. But when she saw the townspeople heading toward the waterfront, she remembered the race. Something inside her egged her on, pushing her to where she was now, staring into her closet. Automatically she reached for the bulky sweaters and skirts, pulling them out… Then she shoved them back, and her hand skimmed to the rear of the closet, to the clothing she'd once designed for a large department-store chain and never got the chance to see worn by other people. Impulse won out over her need to hide.
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