The Seduction of Jason

by Fayrene Preston

  He held up her hand again, examining it thoroughly, running his thumb and forefinger slowly and sensuously up and down each of her fingers, spending a great deal of time on each one. “I can’t wait to discover more about you.”

  A wonderfully warm sensation curled in the pit of Morgan’s stomach. Jason Falco had the curious power to make her feel as if all things were possible. Outside the airplane, the sky was midnight black; inside, the stewardesses had finished serving and the small population of the plane had begun to settle down for the night. It seemed more than a little ridiculous, but Morgan felt as if she were about to be born anew.

  She hadn’t related the full story of the art instructor, Clinton Monroe, but it was the reason Morgan had felt such shock at her immediate response to a man she didn’t know. Her first night with Clinton had been a traumatic experience for the young, innocent girl she had been then. Clinton had taken her willingness to run away with him as experience, and his lovemaking had been one-sidedly brutal. Afterwards he had accused her of being cold, and nothing had happened in the intervening years to change her mind. She had dated, but she had met no one who could make her care whether she was really frigid or not—until now.

  There was David, of course. David DeWitt. They had been dating for a few months. The problem was that David was quite serious about their relationship and she wasn’t. He was a very nice person, but when he kissed her goodnight, he left her nearly as cold as Clinton had. To make matters worse, David sensed her indifference and lately had been pushing for marriage as the solution. He just couldn’t seem to take her “no” seriously though Morgan had tried to break off with him many times.

  “Where are you?” The deeply exciting voice brought her thoughts back to the man sitting next to her.

  “Right here.” She smiled at him.

  His hand ran up the bare skin of her arm. “Tell me, is there someone waiting for you back in St. Paul?”

  Just for a moment, the image of David flashed before her—nice, sincere David—and she chewed on her bottom lip indecisively.

  The lights had lowered in the cabin, the majority of the people electing to sleep their way through the night hours until they reached their destination. Blankets and pillows were available above every seat and Jason had already stretched up and pulled down a few for them. Morgan, sitting at an angle facing him, with her back resting against the window, reflected on their situation. It was an oddly intimate setting, with Jason and herself isolated in their own little area of three reclining seats and one very dim light overhead—a self-contained island in the sky.

  Jason reached out a forefinger to the lip caught between her teeth, releasing it from her grip and soothing the teeth marks away with the pad of his finger. “Don’t do that.” The command, in itself, was a husky caress.

  His touch made up her mind.

  “No,” she assured him breathlessly. “There’s no one.”

  He leaned toward her with his hand going around the back of her head. The light pressure of his lips stroked back and forth over hers, bringing a surge of unfamiliar emotions tumbling through her.

  Morgan went motionless, experiencing the novelty of the sparkling bubbles of hot delight skidding along her veins. There was nothing whatsoever cold about her reaction to Jason and her heart sang with the wonder of it.

  Sensing something wrong, he pulled away slightly. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she denied quite honestly. “Nothing at all.”

  “Here.” He stood up and flicked out their light. “Change places with me.”

  Morgan scooted past and he sat back down, gathering her across his lap. Pulling the blanket up over them, he cuddled her against him. “Now,” he questioned softly. “Where were we?”

  “You forgot?”

  “No. But I decided to leave it up to you to tell me.”

  Morgan looked deep into Jason’s brown and gold eyes and what she saw comforted her. Although he knew something was wrong, he wasn’t going to push her, evidently willing to let her set the pace. Jason Falco was an unusual man in many ways, she decided, at least he was in her limited experience.

  “You were kissing me.”

  “That’s right,” he agreed softly, his hand resting just under her breast, his thumb sweeping back and forth. “I was kissing you. Why?”

  Morgan searched her mind and found no reason why she shouldn’t tell him, even though the only other person she had ever told was Sami. “The art instructor… Clinton … I couldn’t seem to respond … as he thought I should. He said I was cold.”

  Jason muttered a curse under his breath. Then he lowered his lips to hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth to meet and entwine with her own. A rage of need, so unexpected and so strong that it made her forget everything but the man holding her, jolted through Morgan. There, halfway to heaven, suspended on currents of air, in an isolated, dark corner of the plane, beneath an airline-issued blanket, she arched with aroused abandon against the man she had met such a short time ago. An all-encompassing heat consumed her and her body yielded completely to his.

  Jason broke off the kiss and groaned hoarsely against her mouth, “The man was a fool! You’re about as cold as the Sahara at noon.”

  Lifting her head a little, Morgan ran her tongue daringly across his lips. “I was cold—with him,” she murmured, then lay her finger where her tongue had been and moved it experimentally across the velvet firmness of his lip.

  He took her finger into his mouth and began sucking gently on it. A sunburst of heat exploded inside her. “Jason,” she moaned weakly, “what’s happening to me?”

  “The same thing that’s happening to me and I don’t think we should fight it,” he said huskily. “Do you?”

  She shook her head weakly.

  Jason raised his hand to unbutton the front of her dress, then, with his large palm, he covered her breast underneath the lace of her bra. Endless minutes passed as they flew countless miles, but Morgan didn’t notice. The fiery weakness that flowed through her body was the most beautiful thing she had ever experienced.

  She knew that most people on vacations, who were away in strange places, among people they might never see again, usually let their reserve down. Up until now, it had never entered her mind that the same thing could happen to her. Nevertheless, back in St. Paul when she had fallen into her seat, her senses had taken over almost from the first moment, leaving her inhibitions behind, and Morgan had no intention of letting it stop.

  “Where are you staying on Martinique?” he questioned softly.

  “I’m booked in at a restored French plantation up the coast from Fort-de-France.”

  “Stay with me at the DeWitt House.”

  “I-I can’t.”

  A tiny twinge of guilt hit Morgan when she thought of why she couldn’t stay at the new luxury hotel he had named. David had wanted her to stay there, too, telling her that he would take care of all the arrangements. But she hadn’t wanted to because his family owned that particular chain of hotels. Granted, it was only a short branch on the corporation “tree” that was owned and controlled by David’s family, but she felt he still would have taken it as encouragement if she had accepted.

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather not. I want to stay in something more reminiscent of the history of the island rather than a modern hotel that I could see the duplicate of in St. Paul. Why don’t you stay at the place where I’m staying?”

  “I have some business meetings scheduled in the next few days at the DeWitt. As soon as I’m finished, though, I’ll join you.”

  Morgan contemplated Jason from beneath her lashes. From the way the stewardess had reacted to him and the manner in which he commanded and dressed, it appeared he could probably have all the women he wanted. Yet here she was joining what was no doubt a very large group, making it easy for him.

  Why?

  Why not? Morgan answered herself defiantly.

  She couldn’t help but believe, in some instinctive way, that t
his type of behavior was as unusual for Jason as it was for her. The last few years she had imposed a rigid code of discipline and work on herself, very rarely giving in to the capricious side of her nature. She had had something she wanted to prove, mainly to herself, and she had. Now she was tired and needed a rest and she could afford to relax.

  Tonight was the first night of her vacation—a vacation that would be unburdened by the heavy responsibility of the store and the multiplicity of irrelevancies that she seemed to be so expert in getting bogged down with every day. And if it was with a man with whom she had felt an instant rapport, so much the better.

  Their lips joined again in a kiss that lengthened and deepened. The stars rushed by and time passed unnoticed, as they flew out of the darkness toward the sun.

  Chapter Two

  The morning sun shone unrestricted and bright in the clear blue sky above Lamentin Airport. Morgan, waiting outside while Jason collected their luggage, breathed deeply of the sweetly scented air. The tranquil warmth of it came as a benediction after the icy north winds she had left behind just hours before. Already the island’s complexion of serenity had taken hold of her.

  Martinique had a definite “French” ambience. It almost seemed to Morgan that she might have landed in the country of France, instead of in the middle of the Caribbean, on a lush, emerald island known as the “Pearl of the Antilles,” and whose Indian name meant Island of the Flowers. Even now, a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors and a mixture of languages, mostly a patois of French, was reaching her eyes and ears.

  Morgan had known that the island was an overseas department of France, governed by Paris, and that it was the largest and northernmost of the Windward Islands. Weeks ago, as she pored over travel brochures, she had hardly been able to wait until she arrived. Now, however, she found that the excitement of seeing a tropical paradise, which stretched fifty miles long and twenty miles wide, had taken a definite second place to the elation of having met Jason Falco.

  Who could explain what had happened between them, even before she had opened her eyes and seen him? She couldn’t, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to try. After all, close inspection of any natural phenomenon might take the mystery and joy out of it. And she didn’t want to do that. Not yet, anyway. She had just landed in paradise— and, as far as she was concerned, anything could happen in paradise.

  The man who was overwhelming her thoughts appeared with their luggage and deposited the pieces beside her. His hands reached for her shoulders, gripping them lightly. “I missed you!”

  Morgan smiled slightly, suddenly a little shy of this magnetic man in the full light of day. “We were only apart about ten minutes.”

  “But that’s the most we’ve been apart since we met.” His brown eyes glowed tenderly at her.

  Morgan’s mood sobered and she gazed pensively at the man standing in front of her, realizing, not for the first time, just how precipitately their relationship had started. So far, nothing irrevocable had passed between them. Perhaps she should take the opportunity to back off while she could, regroup, thus being able to react more sensibly the next time they met—if there was a next time.

  Jason seemed to read her thoughts and he spoke gently, piercing through her confused indecision. “We may have spent most of the time since we’ve met in the clouds, Morgan, but it started on the ground.”

  She knew what he meant. When she had first become sensorially aware of Jason, the plane had been standing quite still at the terminal. According to her mother, things like this weren’t supposed to happen. But it had. And it was no dream. She hadn’t slept a minute and the only times she had closed her eyes had been during their kisses. Jason had pervaded her senses and, she was very much afraid, her heart.

  “Drive into Fort-de-France with me and have breakfast at the DeWitt,” he added softly.

  She made a wry face. “I’m so grimy and grubby, I won’t feel human until I’ve had a shower and changed into some cooler clothes.”

  “You look fine, but if you wish, you can shower and change in my suite.” He released her shoulder with one hand and ran a finger under the collar of her dress. His touch seemed completely natural. After all, she had just spent the long night in his arms.

  Despite her determination to steer clear of the DeWitt House, the temptation to join him was great. As far as she was concerned, the only serpent in her paradise at the moment was her mother’s voice that kept resounding in her head: “Morgan Saunders! The times in your life that you’ve reacted with haste, you’ve always lived to regret.”

  Go away, Mother! Morgan shouted soundlessly. I’m not wrong this time. I know I’m not.

  And having at last voiced the thought in her head, a remarkable thing happened. All at once, she knew she was right. It was at that precise moment that she made her decision—a decision that did not only involve breakfast.

  She opened her mouth to agree with his suggestion, but was interrupted by a young man, who, in spite of his slight build, looked to be around eighteen or nineteen years of age. Even though casually dressed, he carried himself with an unmistakable Gallic self-confidence.

  “I’m looking for a Miss Saunders who was to be coming in on a charter flight from the States.”

  “This is Ms. Saunders,” Jason told him.

  Relief rein through Morgan at the young man’s perfectly spoken English, since she, herself, spoke no French. “Hello.” She held out her hand, which he took in a firm grip.

  “I am Serge Frontenac, Miss Saunders. My father sent me to pick you up.”

  “How nice,” she exclaimed. “They told me that someone would be picking me up, but I didn’t realize it would be the owner’s son.”

  “We are a rather small operation at the moment,” Serge responded cheerfully in beautifully enunciated English, which carried only a trace of a French accent. “And we like it that way.”

  Morgan pointed out her bags to Serge, watching him carry them off toward a station wagon with the words, “Frontenac Plantation” scripted across the side. She turned back to Jason. “I think it would be better if I went on with Serge, since he’s come all this way.”

  “It’s all right.” He smiled his understanding. “I think I have a meeting in about an hour anyway. But I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, not fully certain just what she was asking.

  Jason nodded. “If I could, I’d skip these conferences altogether, but I’m afraid it’s impossible.”

  “Will you be able to get accommodations? It’s the height of the winter season, you know.”

  “Oh, I’ll be able to find something,” he assured her teasingly, drawing her into his arms.

  His kiss was one of sure possession, and if there had been any small doubts still lingering in Morgan’s mind, Jason’s kiss would have dispelled them. But she knew that there were none, and she returned his kiss with equal feeling.

  Morgan realized that everything about their behavior was highly unusual for so short an acquaintanceship. But then there was nothing ordinary about the way they responded to each other either. Rather, it was uncommonly exceptional how their bodies seemed to be perfectly attuned and how their senses appeared to be a symphony in pure accord.

  And unspoken though the fact might be at this point, they both knew it.

  “I’ll see you in a few days,” Jason promised huskily and then he was gone.

  #

  Morgan couldn’t have described later with any detail the drive to the Frontenac Plantation. There were only impressions. Her mind was on Jason and she knew it would remain on Jason throughout the next few days.

  Serge showed a mature consideration for her feelings by only occasionally pointing out certain sights. They passed through the outskirts of Fort-de-France, the capital of Martinique. A harmonious jumble of multi-hued buildings, the city exhibited a pleasant blend of modern and French colonial architecture.

  As they drove up the main road toward St. Pierre, Morgan looked out over a spark
ling azure body of water that stretched as far as she could see. To their right, green hills undulated in tiers up the mountains.

  Nearing his home, Serge broke his tactful silence and began to speak proudly. “Our island is dominated in the north by a cluster of volcanic mountains, culminating in the forested volcano, Mt. Pelee. A lower backbone of hills leads through the center of the island to a similar group of mountains in the south. You’ll have to rent a car, or borrow one from us, and drive around. Most of our roads are pretty good.”

  “Thanks, I may do that, but for now, I’d just like to rest.”

  “And wait for the gentleman you were traveling with?” Serge asked knowingly, with a smile that somehow kept the question from appearing rude.

  “Yes,” she agreed softly, “I’m going to wait for the gentleman I was traveling with.”

  “We’re nearly to our plantation,” he observed.

  “How is it you speak such perfect English when you are obviously so very French?”

  “My grandfather married an English woman. Consequently, my father is half-English and was educated in his mother’s country. He insisted that I have an English education as well. Nevertheless as soon as I finished, I came home. This is where my heart is.”

  “Tell me about your home,” she urged.

  “It is an eighteenth-century manor plantation house that has been in the family for generations. We have done extensive remodeling. Originally the house had two stories, with the main floor raised well above the ground by brick piers nine feet high.”

  “How interesting. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anything like that.”

  “You wouldn’t unless you were from the South of your country or had visited that area. I understand some of the old Louisiana plantation homes were built along those same lines.”