by Jane Porter
She shook her head, her expression half-amused, half-exasperated. “Don’t try to soften me up with compliments. I might not remember everything but I do remember that how charming you can be, and that you’re lethal when you want something.”
“At least you remember the important things.”
She laughed. Good Lord, she laughed.
“You’re impossible,” she said, her voice throaty, the sound sexy.
And just like that he felt the old jolt, the electric heat that had brought them together, again and again.
“But you like that about me,” he drawled, and he saw a flash in her eyes, the laughter chased away by something deeper, hotter.
She felt the heat, too. The physical pull. So the desire wasn’t gone. Good to know, he thought, his gaze meeting hers and holding, wanting her to feel what they’d once had. Daring her to let the fire burn again.
*
He was doing something to her right now, she thought, unable to look away from his intense blue-green eyes.
He was challenging her…making her think…feel. So like Colm to throw down the gauntlet, to force her out of safety.
“Impossible,” she repeated, her pulse thudding in her veins, her body tingling, a thick hot craving stirring within her.
“You love the impossible.” He unfastened his seatbelt and stood.
He was so tall, his shoulders so broad. Her heart jumped, and jumped again as he closed the distance between their leather chairs. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you how much you like the impossible.”
“Not smart,” she whispered, gulping for air as he leaned over her and unfastened her seat belt.
He drew her up, to her feet. “Now you’re just being contrary,” he answered, sliding his arms around her and drawing her close against him.
He was oh, so warm, and so very hard. He felt wonderful, too wonderful, and familiar in the kind of way that made her heart ache.
Once, he’d been her man.
Once, he’d been her world.
Colm tilted her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Remember this,” he murmured. “Remember us?”
Her heart was pounding. Her legs went weak.
“We are good together. We fit,” he added, his intense eyes held her captive and she stared up at him, thoughts scattering, emotions swirling. She couldn’t think straight, didn’t know anything right now. “You’re not fair.” She licked her upper lip, her mouth suddenly dry. “This isn’t fair.”
“How so?”
She struggled to organize her thoughts, which wasn’t easy when her heart was pounding so. He felt so good. He felt like everything she loved. “I think you know I like…this…”
He stroked her cheek. “Mmmm.”
It took an effort to speak. Her senses were swimming, nerves screaming with pleasure. “So you’re using me….against me.”
His lips quirked. “All is fair in love and war.”
“Is this war?”
“No, baby, it’s love.”
But that didn’t sound right. It didn’t fit. They’d been many things to each other, but he didn’t love her. She didn’t know why. But love had never been part of the equation.
“It’s not love,” she said, stiffening, her hands going to his chest to push him back. “I might not remember everything, but I don’t think we are—” She broke off, frowned. “It’s not love, is it?”
His head dropped, his lips lightly brushing hers. “We’ve made love a thousand times.”
“But that’s not love.” She leaned back and pressed harder on his firm chest.
He didn’t budge. If anything, he held her more firmly, one of his hands low on her hip, caressing her, stirring her senses, distracting her just when she needed to concentrate most.
His lips trailed a slow path along the side of her neck, making the sensitive skin tingle and burn. “Says who?”
She drew an unsteady breath and closed her eyes as he focused on the soft hollow beneath her ear. Heat flared and everything within her felt bright and taut. She wanted more. She shouldn’t want more.
She should put a stop to this. “I can’t think when you do that,” she murmured, her fingers widening on his chest, feeling the heat of his body, the thudding of his heart.
He was a magnificent male. He was everything she’d ever wanted. But she couldn’t want him now. It was hard to remember why. She just knew she couldn’t, shouldn’t, let this happen.
“You must let me go.”
He kissed the line of her jaw. “No.”
“You’re a barbarian.”
He kissed her ever so lightly near the corner of her mouth. “And you love how I can make you feel.”
Warmth rushed through her, surging up from her belly through her chest and into her neck and face making her cheeks burn. But she didn’t contradict him. She couldn’t, not when he was right.
Worse, she wanted him to kiss her, really kiss her. Not these teasing kisses, and pecks, and touches. She wanted his mouth, and his taste. Him.
And she was about to tell him what she wanted, her hands sliding up his chest, when the plane shuddered violently in a pocket of turbulence that sent them crashing into each other. Colm bit back an oath and kissed her swiftly on the lips before putting her back in her seat and buckling the seatbelt tightly.
“I want you, girl,” He gritted, tugging on the strap, making sure it was snug, “but I also want you safe. Tomorrow, we pick up where we left off, and that’s a promise.”
*
Four hours and twenty minutes after they left Teterboro, the jet began its final descent.
It would not be a smooth landing, either, Ava thought, as the jet bounced and jumped, buffeted by the turbulence that kept most aircraft out of St. Barts’ tiny airport. Apparently, the small island had an even smaller runway and private jets had to have a special license to land on St. Barts. Colm’s pilot had been given the clearance when Colm bought the estate overlooking Lorient Bay.
All this, Ava knew, because Colm talked to her throughout the wild landing, talking to her to keep her from focusing on the crazy jolts and bumps.
She let him talk, too, welcoming the distraction. Not just from the rough air, but from him.
He was too attractive for his own good. The near kiss had woken something in her and she couldn’t make the heat go away. She felt electric on the inside and painfully aware of Colm and how appealing she still found him. But how could she not? He was tall and muscular and beautifully shaped…the angle of his jaw, the distance between his shoulders, the length of his leg, the width of his hand.
She wanted to be back in his arms. She wanted to feel his hands. She wanted—
The jet het another pocket of rough air and did a dramatic shuddering bounce.
Her gaze went to Malcolm’s. He smiled at her, reassuring, and she exhaled.
“Almost there,” he said.
“You were right. It is bumpy.”
“Almost always is.”
She glanced from him, to the window. Yellow and red lights lined the island runway. She saw where the lights stopped. It was all darkness and then beyond white rolled against the dark. Waves, she thought. That must be the ocean beyond.
“Why did you buy the villa here?” she asked, glancing back at Colm, not wanting to think about what would happen if the jet overshot the runway.
“Seemed like a good investment at the time, but I didn’t use it very often. There wasn’t any point, and then a year ago Christmas, Jack and I came out and had a lot of fun, and we’ve been back several times. We spent Christmas here this year, too.”
The jet touched down, the landing surprisingly smooth after the bumpy descent.
“We made it,” she said, looking out the window as the jet taxied towards the small terminal building. Yellow lights lined the narrow tarmac. The moon shone high and full, outlining distant palm trees.
“Did you doubt it?” he asked, with a smile.
“I was just glad you looked calm. I wou
ld have been a wreck if you’d been nervous.” She suddenly yawned and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. “I am tired, though. What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Almost midnight back home, so nearly one in the morning here.
No wonder she was sleepy. She was usually in bed by nine. Ava smothered another yawn. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s hit me.”
“It’s late. But don’t worry. We’ll have you in bed soon.” He saw her sharp look and laughed. “Your bed. Relax. You’re safe tonight.”
Chapter Six
‡
She woke up with a start. The room was dark. Pitch black. Her room at home was never this dark. Where was she?
Ava leaned across the bed, reaching for a bedside lamp. She stretched as far as she could and touched the edge of a table before knocking a glass cylinder, nearly sending it crashing to the floor. She caught the glass pitcher and then bumped a smaller drinking glass, but no lamp.
Where was she?
What was happening?
She left the bed too quickly, and it was a longer way down and she landed heavily, awkwardly, and nearly cried out at the lash of pain shooting through her legs into her hip.
Her eyes burned and she swallowed hard.
Where, where, where….if she wasn’t home, where was she?
She struggled to remember, to piece the last several days together. She’d remember the details if she calmed down. She’d remember if she didn’t panic. And yet it was hard not to panic when everything was blank, her mind was blank, all memory blank.
But it wasn’t entirely blank. She knew she had an apartment, and she knew she was a dancer with the ballet company—
No. No. Not right. She was no longer a dancer. She’d been hurt. She couldn’t dance anymore. But she worked for the ballet, teaching.
So, if she wasn’t in New York…where was she?
She groped the wall, above the table, and finally she came upon a set of buttons. She pushed one, and then the other. The bedside lamp turned on. The overhead lights flooded the room with light.
She took it all in, trying to think, trying to remember.
It was all so strange.
Huge, cream wooden shutters lined one wall. The high coved ceiling was marked by an elegant ivory ceiling fan. Her bed was a giant four poster affair with shimmering rose and coral silk hangings. A pile of silk pillows in every shade of rose was stacked on the chest at the foot of her bed.
But none of it looked familiar. She didn’t know why she was here. She didn’t understand any of this.
Her bedroom door opened. Colm entered, wearing nothing but thin cotton pajama pants. “You okay, Ava?” he asked, his deep voice a sleepy rumble.
She shook her head. She knew him, of course she knew him, she dreamed about him every night, dreamed of love won and lost, and lost, and lost…
“Where am I?” she whispered.
He was walking towards her, pushing back dark blonde hair from his forehead, muscles rippling in his chest, arm. “At my place. On St. Barts.”
She looked from his hard, thickly muscled chest to the jutting angle of his jaw and then to his eyes. “How? Why?”
“You came with me last night.”
It was her turn to push a tangle of hair from her face. Her hand was trembling. Her legs weren’t at all steady. Her eyes burned, hot and dry, and painfully gritty. “I don’t remember.”
“We’re here for a holiday.”
“Why?”
“We thought it’d be fun to have a little R&R. You’ve always loved the sea, and it’s warm here. Not at all like New York, which is in the middle of a snowstorm.” He talked as he walked towards her, his pace slow, and body relaxed and yet she felt ripples of heat and tension.
Just watching him approach made her nervous, anxious. She backed up a step. And then another, bumping into the chest at the foot of the bed. “But why here, now?” She couldn’t sort it out. “Why…now…?”
“You don’t remember that I came to see you yesterday in New York? You were working at the school, teaching, and we talked about our son, Jack, and how much he misses you.”
She winced at the mention of Jack. Jack, her baby. She didn’t know him, though, not really. She’d only seen him a couple times because she wasn’t a fit mother. She was dangerous. Colm had to keep her away.
“Is he okay?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
“No.” Colm stopped just a few feet from her, hands resting low on his hips. He still looked relaxed, and yet she felt his scrutiny. He was studying her closely, monitoring her expression. “He’s doing great. Healthy. Happy. You’re the one we worry about.”
Her heart ached. Air bottled in her lungs. “Why?”
“We miss you.”
She continued to hold her breath, holding the pain and longing in. She’d been so lonely…she’d been so lost without them. “I miss him.” She swallowed hard. And you. I miss you so much, she wanted to tell Colm, but couldn’t. She was too broken, too damaged. She couldn’t be what he wanted or needed and she had to be mature, had to accept how things were. She was better off alone. It was her only way to protect Jack, and Malcolm. Sometimes love meant sacrificing what you wanted in able to meet the needs of others.
“Only Jack?” He teased, firm mouth quirking, tone wry. “Not me? Not even a little bit?”
Always you.
I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you.
She struggled to speak but a lump filled her throat and she blinked to keep her eyes dry. “Maybe a little bit,” she admitted hoarsely. So much. Too much.
“I’ll take that,” Colm said, moving another step towards her, closing the distance, bringing her against him. His hands settled on her shoulders before moving carefully down her back. He was warm, so warm. His touch soothed her, comforting her in a way words never could.
She tried to hold herself upright but his skin was a siren call and she needed him. Wanted him.
He stroked back up her back, drawing her even closer and finally she gave in, leaning against him, resting.
And once she was relaxed, her led her back to bed, and climbed into the bed with her, holding her until she fell asleep in his arms.
It took Colm far longer to fall back asleep.
*
Ava sighed with pleasure, warm and so very comfortable. Sleepily, she stretched, and as she stretched she encountered warm skin and hard muscle.
All sleepy thoughts vanished and she opened her eyes to discover it was morning, the wooden plantation shutters open, along with the oversized sliding glass doors, inviting the sunshine in. But that wasn’t all. Colm was in the bed with her, lying on his back, arms folded behind his head. The covers were bunched low at his hips, exposing his broad, bare chest.
She didn’t know where to look—his body or his face.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, blushing, tugging the covers up higher, trying to cover him and her.
“You must have had a bad dream because you woke, and were upset, so I put you to bed, and stayed to be sure you were okay.”
She pressed the covers to her collarbone. “You are so attentive,” she said primly.
“I try.”
“Hmph.”
He smiled lazily. “You’re really wrestling with those covers, Ava. It’s almost as if you’re a virgin.” His smile reached his eyes. “In case you forgot, you’re not.”
She sat up, covers still pressed to her chest. “You can leave now.”
“You’re kicking me out of your bed now that I’ve served my purpose?”
She blushed all over again. “Nothing happened last night.”
“How do you know?”
Her mouth opened, closed. That was a good question. Not that she’d tell him that. He was already looking a little too much like a big cat in her bed, and extremely self-satisfied. “I would know if something had happened.”
“How so?”
“I would just know.”
He
rose up on his elbow to look at her. “So what about on the plane? What did we do during the flight?”
Ava slid out of bed, putting much needed distance between them. “Nothing.” She saw his expression and hurriedly added. “We couldn’t do anything. There was too much turbulence.”
“So, you do remember the flight.”
“You seem to be part of my emotional memory. For the good and the bad.”
“I would prefer to think of it as good.” He threw back the covers and stepped from bed. “Want coffee? Breakfast?”
“Coffee would be wonderful. Maybe a slice of toast, too.”
“I’ll have coffee and breakfast sent to you. They’ll probably set your table on the deck out there. Is this alright with you?”
She nodded. “Are you not going to eat?”
“I’m going to go run and then I’ll be back, and I’ll have a light bite and then take you on a tour of the place.”
*
When Colm returned an hour later, he found Ava on the deck, leaning against the railing, her long, dark hair loose, her slim figure wrapped in a delicate cherry silk robe that made her pale skin glow, and highlighted the hint of pink in her cheeks. He’d picked the robe up on one of his trips, thinking she’d looked gorgeous in it, and she did. But then, he thought she could wear a paper bag and be stunning.
She hadn’t heard him yet and he watched her for a moment, feeling the same rush of possession and desire he always felt when near her.
He’d been smitten with her from the start. Only he hadn’t always known how to tell her. Or maybe, he’d been too proud to tell her.
Had it been a game? A power trip?
God help him…he hoped not.
He made a sound, and she turned, spotted him, and gave him a smile. “How was the run?” she asked.
He joined at her the railing. “Good.” He forced his gaze from her fine elegant features to the turquoise water and the foam tipped waves. It was a beautiful day and yet she was a hundred times more appealing. “Did you eat?”
“I did. More than I usually do.”
“That’s good.”
“Dancers can’t afford to gain weight, though.”
“Not even dance teachers?”
“No.” She grimaced. “I wouldn’t be respected. That’s why I write everything I eat down. Helps me keep track.”
