“No.” Maybe it was self-preservation. Hell, maybe she was playing hard to get. But, he would not come in this house, she decided. Not tonight. Not after putting her in the freezer all evening. She tightened the silk ties of her robe and leveled him with a hard stare.
“Okay. I understand.” He raised his hands in a slight gesture of surrender and his gaze slipped down and right back up again. “I wasn’t too friendly tonight.”
“No. But I don’t expect friendliness from you, Commander Stockard.” A surge of satisfaction shot through her at his cringe. “What do you want?”
He took a deep breath. “To ask you to go sailing with me before you leave.”
“Sailing?” He was too much. “You don’t acknowledge my existence in a bar for an hour and then drop by to ask me to go sailing?”
“I can explain that.” He reached across the short space between them and touched her chin, the slightest whisper of flesh against flesh. His eyes closed partially, and Jessica’s heart started to feel like chocolate left in the burning Florida sunshine.
“So. Explain.” Then kiss the hell out of me.
“Tomorrow. I can explain tomorrow. You’re not leaving until Sunday, right?” He kept his hand on her chin, the steady, guiding hand of a pilot. He lifted her face a millimeter, closer to him. “I’d really like to show you… what’s so special about this little corner of the world.” His finger trailed a little lower, maddeningly close to the curve under her chin. “So we can be sure you want to come back.”
Be sure of it, Deacon Stockard.
Common sense came floating back to the surface, but she didn’t step away from the bliss of his touch. “I don’t know. I… I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?”
“Aren’t you mad at me for the Sydney Lynn event?”
His eyes twinkled. “I’m a reasonable guy. I have time for a date now and then.”
His knuckle grazed her collarbone, and then his fingers dropped dangerously close to the thin silk material over her breasts. Anita Baker started her next ballad.
“Is sailing with you a date?”
He raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. “If you want it to be.”
She shook her head. “No. No. I can’t. I have to pack. I have to—”
“Or it can just be a little tour of the river. Strictly aboveboard.” He smiled at his own double entendre. Before she could answer, he slowly removed his hand. She had to fight the urge to grab it and put it back on her skin. “Tomorrow morning. At my dock around nine. No photographers.”
She laughed a little. “How’d you know what I was thinking?”
He continued backward, easily navigating the half step down to the walk and keeping his gaze on her. He shook his head a little. To clear it, perhaps.
One more time his eyes traveled deliberately over her body, down her bare legs, and back up to her face. She felt dizzy. She felt needy. She wanted him to run right back here and—
“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
She closed the door, quaking deep and low, and braced herself against the hard wood for support. What did she just agree to? Anita Baker hit a high note of love and longing and Jessica felt her heart go right along for the ride.
Chapter Fifteen
Deke awoke early to check the forecast. By seven o’clock, he had brewed some strong coffee and spent a quiet moment on the dock observing the skies and discerning the direction and strength of the winds.
Deke Stockard had never second-guessed a decision in his life and he wasn’t about to start this morning. In fact, he congratulated himself for salvaging what was left of his miserable week. Today, he didn’t want to think about coolant tube inspections or emergency landings. He didn’t even want to discuss his required role at some silly movie premiere next week. All he wanted was the simple seduction of the wind in his sails and the company of one extraordinarily appealing woman.
Padding about in nothing but draw-string sweat pants, he took his time preparing their lunch, wondering what Jessica might be thinking about today. She was softening to him, he thought with certainty. He wanted her in the most physical way, but something else had nagged at him since they’d returned from New York. He liked her. Her cool demeanor that covered a softie inside, her biting, teasing wit she used as a guard, and most of all, her fiery enthusiasm for life. All in a package he couldn’t wait to unwrap.
Two hours later with the boat packed, he stood on the deck, wrapping the lines and making his instinctive last-minute checks. He caught sight of her walking down the river path toward his dock. She wore jeans and a white tee shirt that pressed against her in the slight breeze and clung to her body. With a sweater tied around her shoulders and her hair in a ponytail, she looked like a teenager. He never got tired of looking at her.
“Permission to board?” she asked with a tentative smile as she reached the end of the dock.
He reached out and offered his hand to help her onto the deck. “Welcome aboard my humble vessel. She’s small, but sturdy and fast.”
He guided her to a spot near the helm and continued the last-minute preparations.
“It’s not so small,” Jessica commented. “What kind of sailboat is this?”
“A twenty-eight-foot Tanzer sloop.”
“Tailwind. Nice name. Does it have a special meaning?”
“It’s a pilot’s most favorable flight condition,” he told her. “Have you sailed before?”
“A few times around the Boston Harbor.”
“You have the option of handling the jib sheets and cranking the winch when we come about and tack into the wind,” he said with a smile. “Or you can just sit there and relax while I do the work.”
“I’ll give it a shot.” Of course, she’d rise to the challenge. “I must admit, Deke, you don’t strike me as the sailing type.”
“I’m in the Navy, remember?”
“Come on—fast cars, fast planes. It doesn’t fit. I imagine you in one of those go-fast boats with deafening engines guys like you can’t resist.”
What he couldn’t resist was… her. “You don’t think I’m in touch with my sensitive side?”
She laughed out loud and shook her head. “No, not exactly.”
“You underestimate me. But, there is a motor, just in case the wind dies.” He dangled a key on a rubber key chain in front of her. “A baby diesel, but it gets us away from the dock.”
He twisted the key into the ignition and played with the throttle and pedal until they motored off. When they reached the channel of the Banana River, he killed the engine, raised the mainsail, and cut her straight into the wind. The silence, broken only by the whip of the elegant curve of canvas, engulfed them. He took a deep breath.
He waited for the peace he always felt at this moment. But when he glanced at the woman leaning against a cushion, wind whipping her dark hair around an angel’s face, he was far from peaceful. The chill in the water’s spray left a whisper of goose bumps on her skin and through her white tee shirt he could see the tantalizing effects of the cool air on her hardened nipples.
No peace, he thought, fighting the maddeningly automatic rush of blood at the sight of her. How long would it take him to entice her to the cabin below?
* * *
Curling up on the port-side cushion, Jessica tore her gaze from the amazing sight of Deke working the helm. It wasn’t easy. He looked like an ad out of a boating magazine, with jeans pressed against his powerful thighs and the sleeves of his lightweight sweatshirt pushed up just enough to reveal brawny forearms. She rubbed her own arms and forced her attention to the shore.
“You know, if you let your eyes unfocus on the tree line, it almost looks like hills along the river,” she commented to him. “God, I miss hills.”
“No talk of snow or hills on this sail, please. Remember, the Cape Canaveral Chamber of Commerce is hard at work to showcase our natural beauty. Humor me, okay?”
“For a while,” she agreed, studying the pastel Florida homes a
nd boats of every imaginable size and shape tucked in coves of mangroves. “Actually,” she said quietly, “it’s really lovely here.”
“Now you’re getting it. All right, coming about. You know what to do with that winch?”
She dove into action with a significant amount of instruction from him and every ounce of strength she could muster, but it felt truly satisfying when the boom flipped to the opposite side of the boat and the contour of the mainsail gracefully reversed itself with a resounding snap in the wind.
As they tacked back and forth, he asked enough questions to get her chatting about her job. When she described the wonderful camaraderie she felt with her colleagues, he smiled sheepishly.
“That would include one Jo Miller, I take it.”
“Jo, yes, of course. Have I mentioned her?”
He looked out over the bow and paused before he spoke softly. “I told you I owed you an explanation for last night.”
Jessica’s heart flipped at the intimate tone and she searched her mind for a possible part Jo could have played in it. “Yes?”
“I overheard you talking to her.”
“Oh, I remember.” It seemed like a year ago. “You walked into my office on one of my first days here and I hung up on her.”
He nodded. “And again, last Monday. I was on my way to ask if you’d like to go sailing today and I heard you talking to her. I thought you were talking to your boyfriend.” At her incredulous look, he laughed. “I don’t usually call Jeff Clark ‘honey.’”
“You don’t understand women.”
“Never said I did.” He shot her a sly grin. “Coming about. Honey.”
They reached the intersection of the Banana and Indian Rivers and anchored in wide-open space away from the boats and water traffic. In a few minutes, he transformed the deck into a dining area with a portable tabletop, then proceeded to fill it with his delicious gourmet lunch.
“Wow. Impressive.” Jessica lifted a container of oil-cured black and green olives. “I really could get some mileage out of your culinary skills. Let me think, how about Space in the Kitchen—The Astronaut’s Cookbook?”
He laughed nervously and raised a doubtful eyebrow. “I never know if you’re serious about this stuff or not.”
“Definitely serious.” She smiled contentedly and leaned back on a cushion. “We could release it with the poster.”
He froze, a roasted pepper dangling from his plastic fork. “What poster?”
“I didn’t mention the poster?” She shifted on the cushions and tried to look innocent.
“No.”
“Oh. I thought I… well, we sold one of those great shots of you and the T-38. We presented it to a poster company and they’re reproducing it.”
He stared at her.
“You’ll get big royalties,” she added weakly.
“A poster? Like Farrah Fawcett?”
“You’re showing your age, Stockard. But, yeah. You could be up on dorm-room walls all over America.”
“Good God. A poster.” He shook his head and dropped the pepper on a paper plate. “What the hell is next?”
She took a delicate bite of a calamata olive. “The action figure.”
He froze and closed his eyes. In a moment he opened them, and a slow, maddening grin spread across his face.
“Why is this man smiling?” she asked.
“I’m just imagining how you’ll pay for this.” He leaned over the table, his lips just inches from her face. “You will pay dearly, Jessica Marlowe. I promise you that.”
An intoxicating thrill shot through her body with her own mental images of just how delicious his torture could be.
* * *
Lulled by the waves, the fresh air and the easy conversation, Jessica lazily watched Deke loosen the jib to take them back up the river.
He studied the western sky with a skeptical expression and glanced back at her, a tinge of regret in his eyes. “I’d like to stay anchored a little longer, but we’re going to get the inevitable storm.” He twisted a line and shrugged. “At least the wind’s behind us, so we won’t need to tack.”
“Is that good?” she asked.
“It means I can settle into this comfortable seat.” He sat down and reached his hands under her arms, gently tugging her back, right against his chest. “With you.”
She hissed in a quiet breath as his hands brushed the sides of her breasts and he positioned her into the curve of his body. She stiffened as her backside came in contact with his jeans and his fingers eased her head back on his chest. She’d somehow fallen right into the most incredible place, the valley between his long, powerful legs.
She tried to exhale. “Relax, sweetheart.” His lips pressed the top of her head so that all she could do was enjoy the sensations that rolled over her as the wind and his skilled hand on the helm carried them north, while his free hand tunneled and tangled in her hair.
They arrived at his dock at the same time as the rain. “Go on in, you’re gonna get soaked,” he told her as they motored up to the mooring.
“I don’t melt, Deke. I’ll help you. I’m sure there’s a lot to do.” The rain was light, still no more than a fine mist, so she pulled her sweater on and followed his direction after they tied up to the dock. They lowered and stowed the sails and secured the dock lines. Just as they finished, the sky opened to a downpour and the first flash of lightning made him jump onto the dock and reach for her.
“Enough, Gilligan. Time to get inside. I’ll get the cooler later.”
A loud clap of thunder shook the air. He put his arm around her and they ran toward the house. They reached the covered porch just as a bolt of lightning and simultaneous thunder exploded, and she instinctively grabbed him and gasped.
He squeezed her tighter, then stroked her soaking curls and wet cheeks. She knew he was waiting for her to look up. When she did, their kiss was nearly immediate and completely mutual. As their bodies pressed against each other, they explored each other’s mouths hungrily. He steadied her with one arm and wrapped his other hand in her hair.
“Come inside,” he whispered.
She knew she had to walk but wasn’t sure her legs could carry her. Keeping an arm around her, he flipped a key in the lock of the sliding glass door and guided her into his house.
Once there, he returned to the kiss as they moved, connected, lips and tongues intertwined, toward the sofa in the living room. She couldn’t go there. Horizontal would be deadly. But the thrilling burn that started in her stomach and sizzled down her thighs took over all common sense. Fighting it and every force of nature in her being, Jessica pulled back to look at him.
His eyes mirrored the sparks that burst through her. He bent his head down to the curve of her neck and kissed her skin, flicking his tongue over her collarbone, moaning softly and moving his hands lower to her waist, her hips, her backside. He pulled her closer and she almost bit his lip at the pressure of him, hard and straining through his jeans.
Warm fingers crept under her sweater and over her cottony tee shirt, seeking the hard tip of her breast. His thumb circled it, shocking her straight down to the aching, feminine tingle between her legs.
She couldn’t stop. Control rolled away with each wave of arousal.
Reeling, dizzy, she pushed herself closer to him, and without breaking their kiss, he tugged her onto the cushiony leather sofa. On top of him, her body magically molded to his as Jessica let a primal force of nature and desire take control of her. Her hips kept rhythm with his as she heard herself moan, amazed that he could do this to her. It was magic. It was a spell. It was the risk he kept warning her about and all she wanted was… Deke.
His breath was hot on her neck, his hands starting to tug her tee shirt up. Her clothes were about to come off. This was it. No turning back. Something jarred her back to reality.
“Deke, please.”
He kissed her neck, his lips and tongue dropping further, nearly touching her breasts. “Please what?”
“
Please stop.”
Working his mouth slowly back up her neck, he teased her with his tongue and then nipped her lips before melting into another kiss, slow and deep and warm. Then she could feel his breath as he finally spoke. “Not the please I was hoping for, sweetheart.”
Jess closed her eyes, wanting only to press harder against him and give in to the breathtaking urge to touch him everywhere: his handsome face, his powerful chest, the sexy, masculine bulge of his jeans.
“Deke, I can’t do this.” Her words came in gasping breaths, cut off by the pounding of her heart.
“Yes, you can.” He chuckled in her ear. “In fact, you are.”
She wanted to argue, wanted to agree, wanted to just shut up and lose herself in his body and his kisses, but she didn’t. Somehow, she found the strength to pull away. “No. I can’t do this.”
“You can’t or you won’t? Big difference.” Slowly, he removed his hands from under her sweater and lifted her to a less threatening angle, allowing her to sit up a bit. He inched his way up to sit next to her.
“I won’t.” She tried to convey a commitment she wasn’t sure she believed.
Lifting a strand of her damp curls, he let his fingers play on her face while the arousal subsided. Still, his breathing stayed heavy and slow, his eyes dark with arousal.
He finally sighed deeply. “I’ll be honest with you, Jess. I don’t think about a whole lot else when I’m around you lately.”
A smile played on her lips. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Really?” He widened his eyes in a hopeful, boyish look. “That’s encouraging.”
“Please don’t be encouraged.” She had to be honest. “You’re a client.”
The sound of his heartfelt laughter surprised her. “You can do better than that, spin doctor.”
“You may think it’s a funny and flimsy excuse, but for a man who practically wears his code of ethics on his sleeve, you ought to understand.”
“I do understand,” he said softly, still smiling. “But we’re alone. No hidden cameras. No audience.” He gave her a teasing look. “Although with you, one can never be completely sure.”
Space in His Heart Page 15
