by Laura Taylor
On some level, she’d expected him to put his hands on her. His touch was ingrained in her soul, where it would remain an inviolate memory until she drew her last breath.
"I need you, Jessie."
She shook her head. "Ten years, Dev. That’s a lot of water over the dam. I’m a different woman now."
Tears slipped from her closed eyes, wetting her lashes before they slid down her cheeks. She choked back a sob of regret.
He spoke her name, his voice a soothing whisper, a plea for understanding. A heartbeat later Dev fitted his hands over her silk–covered breasts, gently cupping the ripe mounds, tenderly plucking at nipples already taut with desire.
She felt his fingers tremble, just as she felt the press of his thick arousal. She knew his body as well as she knew her own. Once upon a time, it had been hers to delight and torment, hers to tease and then satisfy. A wail of pure loneliness echoed in her soul even as her own anatomy throbbed with the accumulated need of ten long years. She knew she possessed the ability to deny her need. She’d been denying it for a long time now, hadn’t she?
His lips whispered along the sensitive skin of her neck as he released the catch at the front of her bra. Cupping her full breasts with warm hands, he plied his own unique brand of magic until her resistance began to shatter.
"Jessie?"
Her emotions in disarray, she instinctively angled her face in the direction of his low voice. When he leaned down and his lips settled over hers, she moaned into his mouth. She was grateful that he started slowly with her, nibbling gently at her lips, teasing her with playful stabs of his tongue, but she was even more grateful when his desire got the best of him.
Dev fed on her lips and mouth like a starving man. Jessica responded to him with equal hunger. Heat swirled inside her, awakening her senses, robbing her of her pride, and then crippling both her resistance and her common sense.
"I… need… you, Jessie."
She ducked her head, lips swollen and tender, cheeks flushed, and nerves in a state of near riot. Her entire body throbbed and ached with need.
"Don’t make me beg."
"I can’t, Dev." Her voice splintered, and she took a steadying breath. "I just can’t risk it. I wouldn’t recover."
He said nothing. He simply lowered his shaking hands and tried to smooth her sweater back into place. Although he moved away from her, Jessica continued to feel the sensory imprint of his strong, hard body. She knew she would retain the memory until her life ended.
She sighed, the sound resonant with regret as she listened to his receding footsteps. When she heard the kitchen door being eased closed, she let herself sag against the counter. Other than during the aftermath of their broken engagement, she couldn’t recall a time in her life when she’d felt more alone.
Jessica finally opened her eyes. She still loved Devlin Mackenzie, but she knew, just as she’d known ten years ago, that she could not have him. The price for both of them was simply too high.
2
Jessica spent the next forty–eight hours trying to ignore Dev. She didn’t allow herself an idle moment as she launched into a frenzy of household tasks that included washing clothes, cleaning floors, scrubbing the oven, doing a thorough inventory of the pantry, and polishing the silver.
Despite her best efforts, her thoughts repeatedly strayed to Dev. She decided to shift to more cerebral pursuits, hoping against hope that she would find a respite from her escalating desire to see him. She devoted an entire afternoon to balancing the accounts. She wound up making such a mess of the inn’s books, she became frustrated with herself and set them aside before she could do any more damage.
By the third morning she grew desperate for an escape from the memories of the sensual encounters she and Dev had shared during their courtship. Donning a heavy jacket, Jessica fled the inn and made her way down to the edge of the lake.
She strolled along the shoreline for more than an hour, only vaguely aware of the natural beauty of her environment. Finally pausing, she gazed out across the lake. Jessica discovered that not even the glasslike perfection of the water, the pale winter sun piercing the clouds overhead, or the invigorating scent of pine and oak trees possessed the power to soothe her troubled emotions.
A branch snapped, jerking her back to the present. She spotted Dev standing several yards away. Saddened by his guarded expression, she couldn’t help but recall the humor that had once sparkled in his dark eyes.
Noting his rigid posture as she approached him, she realized that, regardless of the risk to her own emotions, ignoring Dev wasn’t the way to deal with his presence at Cleary House. They’d once been best friends and lovers, and they’d planned a life together. As much as she resisted the reality of her feelings, she still cared deeply about him. She also sensed that reaching out to him in friendship was her sole means of coming to terms with him and with the emotional conflict he inspired within her.
Recalling his appreciation for straightforward, country–style food, a result of growing up the son of die–hard Texans, she asked, "How about beef stew, fresh biscuits, corn on the cob, and a tossed salad for supper tonight?"
He cracked a tentative smile, obviously surprised by her question. "Am I eating in, or are you offering me a take–out meal?"
"My dining room. Seven this evening. Casual attire."
His smile broadened. "I’ll be there."
She nodded and headed back to the inn, amazed by her own impulsiveness and intensely aware that his gaze followed her progress until she stepped into the inn’s kitchen and closed the door.
Much later that day, as she folded napkins with trembling fingers and placed them atop their dinner plates, she questioned her own sanity. Jessica reminded herself yet again that Dev obviously needed a friend, but she still feared that her vulnerability to him might prompt her to offer him more than friendship. She didn’t want to become his personal port in the proverbial storm.
She would have to be vigilant against behaving irresponsibly. She knew that her response to Dev in the past had been neither moderate nor thoughtful. Unwilling then to admit to herself or to Dev that she’d feared becoming a second generation facsimile of her mother if they’d married, she’d ridden a roller coaster of self–indulgent emotion during their time together.
Dev had been her sole refuge from the reality of her father’s death and of her mother’s emotional devastation and subsequent dependence upon her only child. In the end she’d allowed her anxiety about the person she might eventually become to triumph over their love for each other when she’d called off their wedding.
Ten years older now and far wiser than she’d ever wished to become about the human condition, let alone the complexity of relationships, Jessica silently vowed to be less impulsive and more circumspect about both her emotions and her actions. Monica Cleary still needed and depended upon her daughter’s strengths, and Jessica Cleary still resisted the entire notion of ever becoming a warrior’s woman. That role had nearly destroyed her mother, and she didn’t intend to repeat Monica’s experience.
She heard his knock at the door as she walked back into the kitchen. Tugging off her apron, she dropped it across the back of a chair. Then she crossed the room, pressing her hands over her stomach where butterflies dive–bombed like kamikaze pilots. She tried to calm herself before she opened the kitchen door.
"Welcome," she managed to say a trifle breathlessly, her senses going into instant overload at the sight of Dev. As he stepped inside, he brought with him a gust of cold, damp air and the scent of leather. "You’re right on time, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised."
He half–smiled. "My growling stomach’s a dead giveaway, huh?"
"You’re the most punctual man I’ve ever known. It used to drive me crazy. I had to set my clock fifteen minutes ahead in order to be ready whenever we had a…" Jessica stuttered to a stop and her smile faded.
"For our dates?" Dev supplied in a mild tone.
She nodded.
"Re
lax, Jess. I’m not going to assume you want me in your bed just because you made an innocent remark about the past."
"I didn’t think you would." The brittle sound of her voice provoked a flash of surprise in his eyes.
When he reached out and gently stroked the side of her face with his fingertips, Jessica froze and held her breath. She longed to flatten her palms against his broad chest so that she could feel the steady cadence of his heartbeat, but she managed to control herself.
Wide–eyed, uncertain, craving what she knew she couldn’t have, and determined to keep from turning her face into his palm and pressing her lips to his skin, she held very still. Then, she waited. And she watched. Only after he lowered his hand did she start to breathe again.
Jessica moved aside, watching as Dev shed his leather jacket and draped it over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. The mauve–colored sweater, black trousers, and cowboy boots he wore emphasized both his angular, weather–roughened face and rugged build. She felt repeated surges of response burst to life inside her body, and she sensed within herself an inability to fight forever the sensual awareness that streaked through her veins like flaming comets.
"Thanks for the invitation to dinner." He glanced past Jessica, inhaling deeply of the scent coming from a baking dish cooling atop the counter. "Something smells great."
"Cinnamon apple crisp," she told him as she moved to the refrigerator. Removing a bottle of imported beer, she poured the contents into a crystal stein.
His expression tightened briefly. He glanced at the label on the bottle. Then, he frowned at Jessica as she handed him the drink. "You have a good memory."
She gave him a wry glance. "Too good a memory, I suspect."
He gripped the stein, his knuckles whitening. "Why invite me to supper, Jessica? You made it pretty clear that you didn’t want me underfoot."
She exhaled softly and turned to the stove. She concentrated on stirring the contents of a large pot of simmering stew.
"Why the change of heart?" he pressed, tension sharpening his voice. "Why invite me to share a meal after hiding out for the last three days?"
Jessica hesitantly faced him. Although she stood within inches of the hot stove, she shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle. "We were friends before anything else happened between us. I guess I want that part of our lives back, if it’s possible."
She felt his probing gaze and sensed his need to measure her sincerity. She waited, patience she didn’t even know she possessed allowing her to endure his contemplative silence.
"It’s possible, despite what I said the other day." He searched her face. "It hurts like hell to know that you felt the need to hide from me."
Stunned by his admission, she considered it totally out of character. She remembered Devlin Mackenzie as tough and resilient, the Marine Corps jet jockey with nerves of steel and the ability to shield his emotions no matter what he was feeling. This Devlin Mackenzie was all raw nerves and vulnerable emotions. What in God’s name had happened to him?
Jessica recalled his rejection of her offer of friendship a few days earlier. "We both said… and did… things we shouldn’t have. And I wasn’t hiding. I was trying to regain my emotional balance. Monica didn’t mention you were here when I talked to her prior to leaving Vail."
After a thoughtful silence, he admitted, "The other day, I did what I’ve wanted to do for the last ten years. And for the record, Jessica, I don’t consider touching you or wanting to make love to you a mistake. If anything, it’s probably the only thing I’ve ever done right in my life. As for your mother, I’m not responsible for her behavior, just my own." He paused. A new hardness crept into his eyes, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. "Just my own."
"Getting too close again is dangerous, especially if we’re going to work on renewing an old friendship."
She flinched when the oven timer suddenly buzzed. "Biscuits," she announced as she pulled her gaze from the stubborn look on his face and removed homemade biscuits from the oven. She transferred them to a napkin–lined basket, which she placed on an already crowded tray positioned atop the counter.
"Any vanilla ice cream to go with that apple cinnamon crisp?" he asked between sips of beer.
She smiled with relief at the benign quality of his question. Her defenses promptly took a tumble. "Would I dare to serve you what I know for a fact is your most favorite dessert without vanilla ice cream? Bite your tongue, Major. I’d sooner fall on your Mamaluke ceremonial sword than commit a faux pas of that magnitude."
He stared at her for a long moment. "You actually remember the formal name of my Marine Corps sword?"
She sniffed, pretending to be offended. "I knew you didn’t believe me when I told you I’d read The Marine Officer’s Guide from cover to cover during one of your deployments."
"I do now."
"Better late than never."
He laughed suddenly, the sound a balm to her troubled soul. "Some things never change, do they?"
She grinned. "Are you referring to my delightful wit?"
"I’m referring to your sarcastic nature, which I’ve actually missed."
She sighed, shifting into drama queen mode. "I just love it when people praise the cook."
He moved closer. Jessica felt a certain pride in herself when she didn’t shy away from him, but instead met his gaze and his teasing grin.
"Need some help, cook?"
"Please." She gestured in the direction of the tray that held the hot biscuits, a full salad bowl, and a dish replete with several ears of already buttered corn.
"Yes, ma’am." Lifting the tray, he carried it to the dining room table.
"I’ll be right behind you, so go ahead and take a seat." Carrying a tureen brimming with beef stew and a matching ladle, she soon joined Dev at the table.
Less than thirty minutes later, after helping himself to seconds from each serving dish, Dev glanced up to see Jessica’s amused expression. He grinned sheepishly. "I haven’t eaten this well in months."
"I believe you." She took a sip of tea and felt a wave of contentment wash over her as she watched him eat.
"You weren’t much of a cook… before," he commented as he buttered his third roll.
"No, I wasn’t," she conceded. "I also never balanced my checkbook in those days. I just mentally ball–parked the numbers and hoped for the best. I drove Monica’s accountant crazy." She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "By the time I got to college, I’d been the parent at our house for almost seven years. You know some of what happened to Mom after my Dad’s plane went down. I was ready for some freedom, so I declared my independence from all responsibilities. I also made it my life’s work to be nothing like my mother."
"What changed?" he asked.
She exhaled softly. "I grew up, Dev. I faced facts. I accepted realities, primarily the unpleasant ones, and I adapted. Cleary House contributed to the process, of course. The responsibility of the monthly mortgage payment, the cottages we’ve built during the last five years, an expansion of the original boat dock, the tennis courts, the swimming pool," she itemized. "It was tough in the beginning, but money isn’t a problem now. I’ve also become supremely organized, which shocks even me."
She smiled. Although a little amazed at her willingness to be so candid with Dev, she felt pleased by his interest.
"The inn’s been a lot of work, of course," she continued, "but we never have an empty room during the ten months we’re open each year. Our customers keep coming back, and they tell their friends about us, so we have guests from all over the country. Fishermen, hunters, families with children of all ages, honeymooners, retired couples, and all sorts of city people who want to commune with nature. Our reservation book is already filled for the coming year."
"Success suits you, Jessica."
She appreciated his ability to acknowledge what she’d achieved. The few men she’d dated in recent years had been uncomfortable with her commitment to the resort, not to mention her suc
cess. Even her ex–husband had learned to resent it. "It definitely eliminates the possibility of boredom."
While Dev finished eating, Jessica entertained him with descriptions of the resort’s various employees and tales of some of their more peculiar guests. When he groaned and nudged aside his plate, she smiled. "Looks like I’ll have to put your dessert in a doggie bag."
"Maybe not."
She arched an eyebrow. "You must have a hollow leg."
"Tell me about Colorado. Why Vail?"
His request caught her off guard, but she knew he’d brought it up because it had been their first choice for the honeymoon that had never happened. "There’s really not much to tell. I love the environment, so I bought a small condo on the outskirts of Vail. I spend a month there every winter and rent it out the rest of the year. I’ve turned into a fairly competent skier, but that shouldn’t surprise you, not after the river rafting, mountain climbing, and skydiving we did together."
He chuckled. Jessica was glad that he didn’t seem inclined to chastise her for sidestepping his real question. Why had she bought a vacation home in the very community they’d once vowed to spend their declining years?
"That was a part of your personality I never quite understood."
"I’m not sure what you mean."
"You never shied away from physical challenges or risks, but you were afraid to trust me with your emotions and make a real commitment to a life together. Despite the reason you gave me for breaking our engagement, I never really understood why you weren’t willing to try to work out the problems you thought we had."
"I explained the best way I knew how, although two days before our wedding was a lousy time to tell you that I wasn’t ready to make a lifetime commitment." And risk becoming a carbon copy of my mother, she finished silently.
Leaning forward, he took her hand and laced their fingers together. "Don’t be defensive with me. There’s no need. And, Jessie, you’re more than capable of commitment. This place is proof of that."
