by Helen Conrad
He pressed two fingers against the hollow at the base of her throat. He might as well have been touching her soul. “There’s a message here all right,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “A message that speaks of the sweet, wild streak in your nature.”
She blinked up at him, senses swirling. He was so incredibly handsome with his hair slightly mussed and his eyes slightly sleepy. She swallowed hard.
“You’re a liar, Matt,” she said through clenched teeth, more affected by the implications of his words than she cared to admit to herself. “I can’t believe a word you say.”
Pulling away from him, she turned off the path and stepped into the trees, moving fast, wishing she could run right down the mountain into town and disappear from this man’s life forever. Sapphire-blue sparkles from the ocean glittered here and there between the branches. A soft, whispering breeze curled about the treetops. He came behind her as she’d known he would, stopping her headlong plunge into the woods by taking hold of the back of her sweater.
“Wait a minute,” he said roughly, pulling her sharply around. “Let’s get some things straight.”
She turned to look up at him, her green eyes bright and angry.
“Yes?” she challenged, trembling and not sure why.
His hand flattened against the back of her neck, but he didn’t pull it away. “I’ve asked you to play a game of ‘Let’s Pretend,’ I won’t deny that, but it’s for a noble cause.”
“I’ll bet.”
“We made a deal. How about sticking to it?”
She felt like a recalcitrant child, but she couldn’t help it. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
She could feel his hand relax against her neck.
“Yes.” He sighed. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice more normal. “You’re not involved in anything terrible here. It’s for someone’s benefit.”
She hated it when he was nice to her. She was more comfortable with his anger. That way she could remember her own.
“Whose?” she snapped, mostly to keep the fight going. “Yours?”
But her taunt had the opposite effect. Slowly a crooked grin melted the hardness of his face. “Not exactly,” he said, though he didn’t tell her what he meant. “Be assured that you’re doing a worthy person a big favor.”
She looked away in disgust. “And I’m supposed to take your word for it?”
“Why not?” There was humor in his tone, as though he were hoping to coax a smile from her as well. “Don’t you like giving out favors?”
She flashed him a look of undiluted outrage and he laughed softly. “I know it’s going to make you furious to hear this,” he said, “but you look adorable when you’re mad.”
Every muscle, every fiber of her being seemed taut and aching. The tension was tormenting her. She wasn’t made for playing games. She had to get things out in the open.
“Do I?” she said, staring away from him, out at the glimpses of blue water. “Tell me something else. Do I look at all like your real wife?”
“Who?” The word was out before he thought, but he hardly cared.
She turned on him, shaking her head in disapproving wonder. “Vanessa. Remember her? The woman you promised to love, honor, and cherish?”
He considered telling her the truth right then, but something held him back. “Oh, her,” he said instead, casually dismissing the subject with a toss of his head. “I forgot about her.”
She sighed impatiently, pushing her hair away from her face. “You always forget about her. I don’t understand how you can be so cold to her.”
He shrugged, studying the curl of the delicate ear she’d uncovered. Everything physical about her seemed sweetly sculpted, like a porcelain figure. Her spirit didn’t fit; neither did her anger. He wished for a fleeting moment that he knew how to make her laugh.
“Hey, listen,” he said offhandedly, “Vanessa and I . . . were never really that close.”
“What?”
He was just making things worse and he knew it. “It was our destiny to come to a parting of the ways. Vanessa and I were never meant for each other.” He frowned impatiently. “Why don’t we just forget about her?”
His hand was still tucked into the fold of her collar at the back of her neck. She could feel the pressure, and when she let herself dwell upon it, she felt an intoxicating warmth. What was it about this man that made her feel like curling into his embrace even as she hated every answer he gave her?
Did he have an embrace for her? Yes, he did. She could read it in his eyes. Her awareness of him was so sensitive, she could almost feel his breathing, feel the blood flowing through his veins, feel the hard, intoxicating length of his body against hers ...
Stop it! she told herself fiercely, turning away and pulling out of his grasp. She ran and emerged from the trees, stepping out onto the sandy beach of the little lake that snuggled nearby, washed by the soft lap of lake water. A few boats were already sailing out on the surface of the water, their white sails full of wind. The bright sun was warming up the day and her sweater was beginning to feel too heavy.
She heard him come up behind her, but she didn’t turn. “There was a telephone call for you during breakfast,” she said tonelessly. “I took it in the hall.”
She could feel him tense. “Who was it?”
She drew her arms around herself as though she were cold. “Vanessa.”
The silence echoed with possibilities.
“What did she say?” he asked at last.
She whirled and glared up at him. “That she was just an actress hired to play your wife. She got picked up for speeding in a little town south of here, and they held her because of a bunch of outstanding warrants. She’s really upset and she expects you to come and save her.”
He grunted. “That’ll be the day,” he muttered.
She frowned at him. That was hardly a charitable attitude. “She was surprised to hear she’d already been replaced by another phony Vanessa.”
He considered what she said for a moment, then shrugged, as though the whole affair hardly concerned him at all. “Never mind,” he said lightly. “You make a much better Vanessa than she did.”
She threw her hands out. “That’s all you have to say?” she demanded. “That’s it?” Her hands balled into fists. “What the hell are you up to?” she cried.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gazed out at the little blue lake. “Just what is it that you think I’m up to?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe ... maybe you’re just trying to weasel your way into Mavis’s good graces so she’ll leave you lots of money.”
His laugh was short and harsh. It was strange how such a charge could hurt. After all, what other evidence had he given her? And yet, to hear her accuse him like this cut right through him. Couldn’t she trust him? Couldn’t she see his essential honesty?
“The woman is only sixty-five years old. She could have another thirty years. Do I seem like the type to plan that far ahead?”
She shook her head slowly, watching him, noting the flash of anger that came and then retreated again, fascinated and unsure of what it all meant.
“I don’t know what you seem like,” she said. “I don’t know a thing about you. Not a thing I can trust, anyway.”
He made a movement toward her, but before he could reach her, she stepped back, holding up a hand to stop him.
“I have to know one thing,” she said, her voice brittle. “Are you married or aren’t you?”
She could see the reluctance to answer in his face.
“Why?” he asked, his gaze skimming over her face before it met her eyes again.
“Tell me!”
He made a gesture with his hand that signaled his annoyance. “All right. I’ll tell you.” His gaze met hers squarely. “No. Right now, I’m not married. But Aunt Mavis thinks I am.”
“I see.” So that was it. Janet hated the wave of relief that swept over her. He wasn’t married. She
wasn’t feeling these powerful sensations over a married man. She didn’t have to bear the load of guilt she’d been contemplating after all. “She . . . she doesn’t believe in divorce?”
He shrugged. “Mavis is old-fashioned in some ways,” he said, and Janet was so busy thinking about his marital condition she didn’t notice his answer was merely a diversion from her question.
So it was just another case of his trying to protect his Aunt Mavis. She wasn’t sure if she admired him for his solicitude or despised this as another example of how he seemed to bend the truth all the time.
“That still doesn’t explain—“
“You’re just going to have to trust me on it,” he cut in, his voice hard, his impatience with this conversation evident.
“Trust you?” She was astounded. “Trust you? Trust you to do what? You stole my cat. You’re lying to your aunt. You’re blackmailing me. Trust you! Are you crazy?”
Couldn’t he see how much she wanted to do exactly what he was suggesting? But everything he did, everything he said, made it impossible.
“Get me my cat back,” she said. “Get me Alexander, and then I’ll trust you. And I’ll leave. And you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
He stared at her, then slowly shook his head. “Things have changed since last night.”
She felt her own defenses stiffen at the tone of his voice. “What do you mean?” she asked warily.
He stared back for a long moment. He didn’t know exactly why this sweet, naïve young woman tied him up in knots, but she did. She was everything most women he dated would scoff at—perky, brave, intelligent, and honest as the day was long, despite her attempt at burglary. And somehow all those things seemed to be making it very dangerous for him to be around her.
And the danger? That he wouldn’t be able to stand having her despise him. That he would be tempted to tell her the truth, just so she would think well of him. He really should back away, go to the house, stay as far from her as he could when they didn’t absolutely have to be together. If he hung around too long, something was going to give.
“Can’t you tell?” he said softly unable to stop himself.
Something inside was yelling at him, warning him to be careful. Don’t tell her any more than she needs to know. Don’t give anything away. And he knew he wouldn’t. Years of conditioning had taught him how to keep a secret. Still ...she fascinated him as few women ever had. He wanted to… hell, he couldn’t let himself think like that. He had to get away from her.
Or… There was another option.
Looking down into her pretty face, he could see that her lips were quivering with…what? Anticipation? If that was it, if she wanted him like he wanted her, then maybe all bets were off.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he told her with an urgent intensity, his eyes luminous in the shadows.
Her heart lurched. Alarm flashed through her body. She’d sensed this, but she hadn’t been ready to face it. For all his underlying humor, he was a man who reached out and took what he wanted. And now he’d said in so many words that he wanted her.
“No,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
But to her it seemed there was rock-hard certainty in his face. He’d made his decision. Panic welled up inside her and she backed farther away from him. She didn’t want to face this. She didn’t know if she could fight him when it came down to it. And she knew darn well there was no one to turn to out here.
Whirling away from him, she began to run back up into the woods.
CHAPTER FIVE:
A Secret Mission
The underbrush crunched beneath Janet’s feet. Feathery branches whipped at her face. The trees flew past as she ran away from the sparkling blue lake, heading for the highway where her car was still parked. She wasn’t sure just what she was going to do, but she knew she had to get away from Matt and the threat he posed.
And then, like some angular witchy creation in a children’s cartoon, a big dead branch snagged her, scratching her face, catching on her sweater, bringing her flight to a gasping halt.
“Oh!” she cried, yanking at the branch, not caring if she destroyed the sweater, but Matt had caught up with her already and his large hands took possession of her shoulders.
“Hold still,” he demanded. “I’ll get you loose.”
“No, I can do it.”
But she couldn’t. Her fingers were trembling, her breath was coming in sharp, painful pants. Sharp pieces of the branch had penetrated through to the other side of the wool, scratching her breasts. She tugged at the wood, pulling it wildly.
“Oh!” It broke off in her hands, but the sharp twigs were still embedded in her sweater, hurting her.
Matt’s hand went to the back of her head and he forced her to meet his gaze. “Just be quiet,” he said firmly. “Let me take care of it.” He stared at her like a gamekeeper using the force of his will to quiet a wild animal.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay,” she said at last. “I won’t move.”
He stared down at her for another long moment, as though making sure she would be as good as her word before he went ahead. She closed her eyes, bracing herself, willing it to be over quickly.
Finally he loosened his grip on her and his hand slid beneath her sweater. She heard his sharp intake of breath when his cool fingers brushed against her warm breasts and he realized she hadn’t worn a bra. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, trying to count to a hundred, trying to do anything but allow herself to experience the waves of sensation his touch was conjuring up.
He worked quickly. He broke off the larger pieces, then labored skillfully to free the remaining twigs without hurting the yarn. Every time his knuckles touched the softness of her breasts, she felt her stomach drop away. And then the palm of his hand brushed against her nipple and she cried out, jerking back, her eyes wide from the shock.
“Careful.” He held her still, his dark eyes swirling with an intense knowledge that scared her again. One long and contorted piece of branch remained to be removed. “Just hold it a minute longer,” he whispered to her, his voice husky, rough, as though he were having reactions of his own to contend with.
She was quivering with feelings she hardly understood. They frightened her. Loss of control scared her more than anything else, and she sensed that Matt could carry her sailing out into that void at any second.
“Hurry,” she murmured urgently, closing her eyes again.
She heard the twig snap and felt his hand slowly slide back out from under her sweater. Slowly, fearfully, she opened her eyes. He was finished. She touched the front of her sweater. There were no twigs left, but the scratches on her breasts hurt.
“Ouch,” she muttered.
“What is it?” He hadn’t completely let her go. “Are you hurt?”
Before she had a chance to protest, he was peeling back her sweater, rolling it up to reveal her white, dusky-tipped breasts, the nipples hard and tight in the forest breeze. Hardly breathing, she was paralyzed, shocked and motionless. For just a moment, he stared at her lovely nakedness, her full, smooth body. His own breath was coming faster now. She could hear it. As she watched, unable to move, he reached out a fingertip to touch just below the red mark on one breast.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned, and then he leaned forward, as though in slow motion, and pressed his lips softly to each scratch.
There was no pain any longer, other than the searing fire burning deep down in her body. She wanted him. She wanted him hard and overpowering and full of passion, and she’d never wanted anything like that before.
“Oh, Matt,” she moaned, and her hands went to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard muscles. She heard the dull thud of the binoculars hitting the ground and then his arms were pulling her close, her naked breasts pressed up against his chest, and his mouth was moving on hers, hot and hard with question. She opened her mouth to him.
His tongue tested the softness of her lips,
then plunged inside to fill her with a pure, clean sense of how good he would be, how sure, how masculine. She felt his hands slide down her back and down into the seat of her jeans, cupping her bottom and forcing her hips up against the hard evidence of his readiness, and she burned for more.
Insanity. That was what it was. Her body had taken over, but her mind was still alive, if barely, and slowly, surely, it took over once again. She wanted his touch, wanted his lovemaking, longed to possess him completely with a fierce, burning need that she hadn’t known she was capable of.
Yes, she wanted him. But that didn’t mean she should abandon all her principles and take what she wanted.
Now she knew why she’d been running. It hadn’t been from Matt. It had been from herself, from her own instinctive need for this tall, compelling man.
“No, Matt,” she managed to whisper. “Please, no ...”
“Why not?” he murmured back, rubbing his face to hers, kissing her lips, her chin, her ear in quick, hungry gestures of arousal. “Why not now? Why not here?”
But he knew before he even said the words that it was no good. He could feel the reluctance in her. He’d never forced a woman in his life, and he wouldn’t do it now, even though the urgency of his need for her was strong, aching like a physical wound. He didn’t know why he wanted her so badly, maybe it was her sweet red mouth or the way her black hair brushed against her cheek. Maybe it was the way her smile seemed to light up the sky, sending a wave of intoxicating heat through him. Whatever it was, for the moment at least, he was hooked.
She’d stiffened, straightening herself and fighting hard against her feelings. He pulled her close against his chest and held her, his face in her hair.
“Okay,” he said gruffly. “Not here, not now.”
She relaxed against him and he sighed. She felt good in his arms, even like this.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded, her face hidden in his chest, but it wasn’t true. She was anything but okay. Confusion raged inside her, putting her in agony. She’d never felt like this about a man before, and it excited her. But at the same time, she was horrified. This man was at the very least underhanded.
