Wild and Wonderful

by Janet Dailey

  "No rings," Jett observed. "Have there ever been any?"

  "If you mean, have I ever been married? No," she replied with a slight shake of her head.

  "Engaged?"

  "No." The latent sexiness of his look was having a chaotic effect on her pulse.

  "How old are you?" Jett continued with his questions.

  "Twenty-four."

  "No steady boyfriends?"

  "None." At the skeptical lift of his eyebrow, Glenna qualified her answer. "Not unless you count Bruce."

  "Bruce Hawkins. The man who manages the mine for your father?" His recognition of the name was instant. He asked only for her confirmation.

  "Yes. Bruce and I have become close friends since my father had his first attack. Since dad has to restrict his activities, Bruce comes to the house a lot to discuss things with him," she explained.

  "He's been like a brother to you then, another member of the family," he deduced.

  "Something like that," Glenna agreed.

  His hand continued to massage her fingers, rubbing them in a sensuous manner that aroused all sorts of tremors. "Do you think he regards you as a sister?"

  She started to say yes, but when she met his knowing look she knew that wasn't true. After a pause she admitted, "I don't think so."

  "Neither do I."

  Jett released her hand to let his fingers seek the mass of hair at the back of her head. By the time Glenna realized his intention she had lost the will to resist. The searing possession of his mouth parted her lips to deepen the kiss with the intimacy of his exploring tongue. Hot flames shot through her veins, melting her bones and burning her flesh with a feverish heat.

  Her hand slid under his arm to circle the back of his waist, her fingers spreading over the taut muscles of his spine. When he uncombed his fingers from her hair, he cradled her head on the flexed muscle of his upper arm. She let her fingers glide up the front of his shirt to slide inside his collar, discovering the exhilarating feel of his tanned throat beneath her hand and the wild tattoo of the vein in his neck.

  Glenna shuddered with intense longing. The quiver continued when she felt the touch of his fingers pushing their way under her sweater to the bare skin over her rib cage. The breath she took became lodged somewhere, time standing still as he cupped a ripe breast in the circling cradle of his hand.

  Through the spinning recesses of her mind a voice came to ask if what she felt was real. Or whether it was simply natural desire that had been suppressed, too long and was now being uncovered by an expert. Her conscience rejected sexual involvement with the accompaniment of emotion.

  Trembling, but with growing strength, Glenna began to strain away from his drugging kiss. At the first sign of resistance Jett began to seek control of his own passion, not attempting to overpower her.

  When he lifted his head, both were breathing raggedly. Glenna sat up, shakily tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. Silence stretched between them for several seconds. Then Jett rolled to his feet and held out a hand to pull her upright.

  "Have you had breakfast?" he asked when she was standing.

  "No. I wasn't very hungry." She watched him bend to scoop up his suit jacket. "I thought the fresh air might wake up my appetite."

  "Are you hungry now?" His fingertips touched her elbow to start her in the direction of the inn.

  "A little."

  "For food?" His downward glance noted the very faint blush in her cheeks. "I guess I didn't have to say the obvious, did I?"

  "No."

  "Glenna."

  Something in his voice raised her head. He was looking at her with an intensity that she found a little frightening.

  "What?" she prompted when he didn't immediately speak.

  A tiny frown appeared between his eyebrows as his gaze swung to the front. "Never mind. It wasn't important." He seemed suddenly very remote. Lifting a hand, he rubbed the side of his jaw. "I need a shave…and some sleep."

  There didn't seem to be any comment for Glenna to make, so she fell into an uneasy silence. Jett made no attempt to break it during the walk back to the inn. Shortly after they had entered the lobby Glenna spied her father.

  "There you are, Glenna." He hurried toward them. "I wondered where you were. Have you had breakfast?" A frown clouded his expression when he recognized Jett and took in his slightly disheveled appearance. "Good morning, Jett."

  "Good morning, Orin," he replied and immediately excused himself. "I'll talk with both of you later today."

  It was left to Glenna to explain, as Jett walked to the elevators, how she had come to meet him.

  Chapter Six

  GLENNA GLANCED AT HER WATCH for the fifth time in the last five minutes. Irritated that so little time had passed she turned and retraced her path to the window overlooking the front grounds of the inn. It was the same view of trees and grass and driveway. She pivoted away to wander back toward the door of the suite.

  "You are going to wear a hole in the carpet if you keep walking back and forth in the same place," her father complained, chiding her in a · paternal fashion while he drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

  "You aren't exactly a picture of serenity," Glenna retorted dryly.

  "No, I suppose I'm not," he admitted, releasing a long breath.

  "Maybe I should call him," she suggested. "He might not realize we're waiting for him. There wasn't any specific time mentioned."

  "Coulson knows we're waiting to hear from him," he assured her. "He'll be here…sooner or later."

  But could her nerves stand the "later"? Glenna threaded her fingers together, squeezing them tightly while she tried to ignore the tension churning her stomach. Restlessly her gaze searched the room for some object to distract her attention from the endless waiting.

  A sharp knock at the door snapped the fragile thread of her control. She whirled toward the sound, then paused to meet her father's glance. He drew in a deep breath and forced a grim smile on his mouth. Taking his lead, Glenna gathered together her composure before forcing herself to walk sedately to the door.

  Turning the knob, she stepped to one side as she opened it to admit Jett. She struggled to behave normally when she met the blandness of his gaze. She even managed a smile of welcome.

  "Sorry I kept you waiting. I was delayed or I would have been here sooner," Jett explained smoothly, pausing while Glenna closed the door behind him. "I received a long-distance phone call just as I was about to leave."

  "It couldn't be helped." She accepted his apology while her gaze searched the impenetrable mask of his features. "You look rested. Did you get some sleep?" she asked conversationally as they walked the rest of the way into the room where her father was seated.

  "A couple of hours."

  Her alert gaze had already noted his smoothly shaven face and the starched crispness of his striped shirt and charcoal slacks. With him, Jett had the reports her father had given him the previous afternoon. Yet, more than the freshness of his appearance, Glenna noticed the coolness of his attitude. The pleasantness was all on the surface. A chill ran up her spine as she darted a look at her father.

  When Jett walked over to set the reports on the table beside his chair her father said—quite calmly, "It's no, isn't it?"

  Her gaze raced to Jett in a silent plea for her father to be wrong, but Jett didn't glance at her. He met the pair of gray eyes squarely, without a flicker of regret.

  "No." It was a flat refusal.

  Glenna nearly choked on the bitter taste of defeat, but she didn't make a sound. Her personal disappointment was fleeting. If the announcement was a crushing blow to her, it had to be much more severe for her father. It was his life's work that was being lost. Her heart swelled with pride at the stoic acceptance he was displaying over Jett's decision.

  "Very well," he nodded. "It was worth a try."

  "May I ask why you turned down his proposal?" Glenna felt her voice sounded quite calm, with only a trace of rawness in its tone.

&nb
sp; "It's quite simple." The piercing blackness of his gaze was turned to her. "If my company is interested in acquiring your mine, it would be much more economical to let him go broke. A merger would mean assuming all of his debts and liabilities as well as his assets. Those debts are more than the mine is worth. Which wipes out the tax savings. Therefore the merger isn't to our advantage."

  "I understand," Despite her outward composure, inside she was raging at his coldly logical reasoning that didn't take any human factor into account.

  As if reading her mind his gaze narrowed. "Your father would be the only one who would really benefit from the merger. And Coulson Mining is not a charitable institution." He turned back to her father. "This was strictly a business matter. I had to make a business decision." It was a fiat statement with no apology for the outcome.

  "I understand perfectly," her father replied. "I didn't want you to regard it in any other manner."

  There was a second's pause before Jett extended an arm to shake her father's hand. "I wish you luck, Orin."

  "A gambler can always use some of that." A wan smile pulled at the corners of her father's mouth in a weak attempt at humor.

  After he had released her father's hand, his gaze rested for a scant instant on Glenna. Then he crossed the room to the door and left without another word.

  His departure released the paralysis that had gripped her limbs. Glenna moved to her father's chair, wanting to comfort him and wanting to be comforted herself. She reached out to tentatively rest a hand on his shoulder, worried by the lack of expression in his face. He patted her hand almost absently.

  "We'll figure something out, daddy." Unconsciously she used the term "daddy" instead of dad. She hadn't called him that since she was a child.

  "No, we've lost it. The mine, the house, everything," he declared on a hollow note, staring off into space. "If a merger wasn't profitable for Coulson, there isn't anyone else who can help us. I'm through. Finished."

  "Don't say that, daddy." She knelt beside his chair, fighting the tears that were making the huge lump in her throat. "You are a Reynolds, remember? We never quit."

  He didn't seem to hear her. She searched wildly through her mind for some alternative, some other way to save everything, but there was only blankness.

  "I'm tired, Glenna," he said after several minutes. His eyes appeared empty when he looked at her. "I think I'll lie down for a while. Will you help me up?"

  The request frightened her as nothing else had. He had always been too proud to ask for help, or to admit he needed it before. His pride was broken. Glenna felt she was picking up the pieces when she slipped an arm around him to help him out of the chair. She walked with him to his bed and spread the light coverlet over him.

  "You'll feel better after you rest," she insisted in an effort to reassure herself. "Later on we'll call room service and order steak and champagne. We're going to go out in style, remember, dad?"

  "I don't think I'll feel like eating tonight." He closed his eyes.

  Glenna stared at him, then finally pulled up a chair beside his bed. He appeared to sleep. She remained near him, worried about his heart and wanting to be there if he became ill.

  At seven o'clock she had a sandwich sent up for herself and a bowl of soup for her father. She was partially reassured when he wakened and voluntarily sat up to eat the soup. He continued to be withdrawn, unresponsive to her attempts at conversation, but the leadenness of depression had left his eyes. She turned on the television for a while until he announced that he wanted to go to bed. Leaving the connecting door ajar, Glenna returned to her own suite.

  Chapter Seven

  MECHANICALY, Glenna changed out of her clothes into her turquoise green nightgown and matching satin robe. Too many things were running through her mind, leaving no room to think of sleep. She moved restlessly around the room, slipping in to check on her father half a dozen times.

  Her head was pounding with the effort to find a solution. Two thoughts kept reoccurring in her mind. One was her father's insistence that Jett Coulson had been their only possible source of help. The second was the remark Jett had made to her early that morning about how easy his decision would have been if she had wanted a merger with him.

  Pressing a hand to her forehead, Glenna tried to rationally think out her problem. Jett was attracted to her. That was an indisputable fact. He had made his decision on a purely business basis, but what if she appealed to him on a personal level? How much influence did she have? Could she persuade him to reconsider?

  When the barrage of silent questions stopped, a calmness settled over her. She had to find out. For the sake of her father, she had to try. With a course of action chosen, Glenna moved to carry it out.

  The hotel corridor was empty when she ventured into it. She walked swiftly to the door of Jett's suite and knocked lightly on it. Only at that second did she consider the possibility that he might not be alone—or that he might not even be there. The turning of the latch eliminated the last. When Jett opened the door a glance past him found no one else in the sitting room.

  He stood in the opening, one hand holding the door and the other resting on the frame. Under the steadiness of his gaze, Glenna couldn't find her voice. Taking his time, he let his gaze travel over the draping fabric of her robe as it outlined the jutting curves of her breasts and hips. In a strictly defensive reaction to his visual assault, her hand moved to finger the satin ribbon that secured the front of her robe.

  Without saying a word Jett opened the door wider and moved out of the way. Her hesitation was brief before she glided past him into the sitting room. She pivoted around to face him when she heard the click of the door latch. He was wearing the same pale gray striped shirt he'd had on this afternoon, hut the sleeves were rolled up to expose his tanned forearms.

  "It occurred to me that you might come to see me." Instead of walking to her, he went to a table strewn with papers that he'd obviously been working on, and half sat on the edge.

  "Then you know why I'm here." Her voice came out husky.

  There was a pack of cigarettes amid the stacks of papers. Jett removed one from the pack and lighted it. "You came to see if you couldn't persuade me to reconsider your father's proposal." He sounded so distant that Glenna unconsciously moved closer to him.

  "Is it so much to ask, Jett?" she questioned. "My father has everything at stake. His whole life's work."

  "A good gambler keeps an ace up his sleeve. I wondered if your father was going to play his ace of hearts." He studied her through the smoke screen of his burning cigarette.

  "Ace of hearts? Are you referring to me?" Glenna frowned, confused by his attitude. "My father doesn't know I'm here."

  "He didn't send you?" An eyebrow was arched in question.

  "He's in his room, sleeping. He has no idea that I'm here. If he knew—" When she imagined her father's reaction, she averted her glance from Jett. "He wouldn't approve."

  "Then this was all your idea," Jett concluded.

  "Yes." She watched as he reached across the table for a half-filled ashtray. With one hip on the edge of the table and his other leg braced in front of him, he held the ashtray in the palm of his hand, the forearm resting on his thigh. She couldn't help noticing how his relaxed stance stretched the material of his slacks tautly across the hard columns of his legs.

  "I don't think you understand how serious dad's situation is. It isn't just the mine he's going to lose, but his home, everything he's worked for all his life. In his condition, he can't start all over."

  "I know he'll be lucky to end up with the clothes on his back." Jett took a drag of his cigarette, squinting at her through the smoke that swirled up to burn his eyes. "That's one of the things I learned when I ran a check on him. And I admired the way he underplayed how much he stood to lose, as if he had something tucked away while he was betting his last dollar. He's a proud man with a lot of class."

  "You wouldn't say that if you had seen him after you left this afternoon." G
lenna laced her fingers together in front of her, twisting them as she tried not to remember how he'd looked. "You broke him. I've never seen him like that—with no fight left in him—no pride. He's given up. When you left, he laid down as if he hoped he would fall asleep and die. I sat with him, trying to think of a way I could—" Her throat tightened, choking off the last of the sentence.

  "That's when you got the idea to come here." His gruffness drew her glance. An agitated impatience dominated his action as he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and set it aside.

  "You were his last hope, Jett. There isn't anyone else in a position to help him." She took another step toward him, reaching out to touch his arm in an unconsciously beseeching gesture. "I accept that as a business move a merger with dad might not be that beneficial to you. But can't you reconsider his proposal on a personal level? Help him because he needs it?"

  A muscle flexed in his jaw as his impenetrable gaze locked with hers. With an almost violent abruptness, he straightened from the table, moving so suddenly that one minute her hand was touching his arm and in the next there was only empty air.

  "You don't know what you're asking, Glenna." He shook his head with an angry kind of weariness, his hand on his hips.

  "He needs you," Glenna stood quietly in front of him. "Explain to me what I have to say or do to make you listen to me."

  "What if I told you to take off your robe?" His glance flicked to the satin bow with raw challenge.

  Slowly she raised a hand to untie the front bow. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled an end of the ribbon to unfasten it. When it was untied she eased the robe from her shoulders and let the shiny material slide down her arms. Catching it with one hand before it reached the floor, she reached out to lay it on the table atop his papers. Then boldly Glenna lifted her gaze to his face.

  An inner warmth kept her from feeling the coolness of the air touching her exposed skin. The matching nightgown was styled like a slip. Turquoise green lace, the same shade as the satin material, trimmed the bodice. The dinging fabric revealed the rounded shape of her breasts, her nipples appearing as small buttons beneath the material. After tapering in at the waistline, the nightgown flared gently over her hips, ending just below her knees. The lace-trimmed hemline was broken where the gown was split up the side, almost to mid thigh.