Can’t Say No

by Jennifer Greene

  “How did they get into this? Of course I have a family.” He added mildly, “What members didn’t disown me in my younger days.”

  “Specifically, did your mother survive those younger days?”

  “Mom? She’s a brick.”

  Bree had to severely repress laughter. “And your father. The one who despaired you’d ever turn out a productive human being?”

  “Dad was a very productive human being. He had me, didn’t he? And three more. He’s more into being happily retired than reproducing these days. None of the rest of the siblings, alas, inherited my incredible good looks. Come on over here, Bree.”

  When she failed to move, he tugged at her pantlegs. The harder he pulled, the more the jeans were in danger of slipping down from her hips, in spite of the belt. Bree batted at his fingers, but Hart’s hands were bigger than hers. He wasn’t content until she was sitting facing him, with his legs over hers and a lazy grin within kissing distance. “We’ve been talking too much,” he informed her gravely. “Let’s get you polluted on apple juice, so I can have my way with you.”

  She sighed, loudly. “You’re not going to have your way with me, Hart. That isn’t why I came here-and did they all turn out as badly as you did? The siblings, I mean?” She was determined to finish the conversation. As far as she could tell, every single thing he’d ever told her about himself had been a lie. In one sense, she felt enraged, in another like laughing, and in another…she wasn’t at all sure what she was feeling. Danger, at being close to him. And loving being close. And fear that she was coming to conclusions too fast.

  It was kind of mind-boggling, watching the transformation of Hart from irresponsible globe-trotter to dedicated businessman. From an alcoholic to a man hooked on apple juice. From articulate cynic to secret softie.

  And Hart’s eyes held navy blue glints that kept trying to beguile her, even as he impatiently answered her questions. “Most of them turned out worse. John’s been in law school for about fifty years now. He loves going to school. Jennifer married a doctor, which sounds good enough except that they had to buy into a practice, and with a baby on the way-”

  “They were broke?”

  “After so many years of medical school? Hell, they didn’t have a crumb in the cupboard. Eric’s the worst. He decided a few years ago to go back to nature. He has a little farm in Vermont. Very picturesque. Very, very picturesque mortgage. They charge gold bullion for land there, you know.”

  “Nope, I didn’t.”

  “And Eric’s got two kids besides. Twins. Two years old and so damned cute-not that I like kids,” he added hastily. “But when you’re stuck with a couple of nephews, what the heck.”

  “You adore them,” Bree said flatly.

  “Maybe,” Hart hedged.

  “And you’ve been obligated to help your brothers and sisters financially.”

  “They’re all in a hurry to get off my hands. A few more years and I can be really irresponsible. Anyway, this conversation has taken a kind of boring turn.” He smiled in such an innocent, disarming way, just before his fingers pulled at the open throat of her shirt and he ducked his head for a view. “You know, I really think this is one of the world’s scenic wonders. Ever seen the Taj Mahal?”

  “No. Hart-”

  “Lots of white marble, a few fountains. Domed tops. I like your domed tops better. Talk about your architectural wonders.” Thirty seconds later, he had whisked all the wrapping paper away, lowered a startled Bree to the carpet and was straddling her. One of his fingers was busy with the buttons of her shirt as he grinned. “I know a great game for domed tops.”

  “You weigh at least a ton, and I didn’t come here for this.”

  “Now, Bree.” He flipped open two buttons, in spite of her hands chasing after him. “To hell with domed tops. Ice-cream cones. That’s really what they remind me of. Do you lick your ice-cream cones from the top or the sides?”

  His tongue flicked over a nipple. The helpless laughter rippling through Bree abruptly died. His soft tongue strayed down to the side of one breast, lapping at the circumference as if he were indeed savoring vanilla ice cream. Or maybe chocolate. Or maybe wild cherry.

  “Unlike ice-cream cones, the more you lick, the less they disappear. Have you noticed that phenomenon, Bree? They’re swelling up,” he whispered. His eyes lifted distractedly to hers. “Also, they’re not at all cold. One might even go so far as to say-”

  “Hart. Sex is a serious business. Do you have a straightjacket I could conveniently put on you for the next five minutes?”

  He shook his head. “Honey, you’re such a mental mess. Who on earth gave you your sex education, anyway? Sex is fun. I thought we covered all this two nights ago.” He glanced down at what his hand was covering and started chuckling. “We did. Cover this. Extensively.”

  “You still have work to do,” Bree said desperately. How had things gotten out of hand so fast? Maybe her prepared speeches were in a mental rejection pile, and maybe they belonged there, but she still didn’t want an affair based only on sex…even if her heart was kicking in approval at a thundering rate.

  “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

  “A stitch in time saves nine,” she shot back.

  “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

  Bree frowned up at him. “What do apples have to do with anything?”

  “I thought you wanted to quote proverbs.”

  She closed her eyes disgustedly. A mistake. Hart promptly leaned over to kiss them. Lips softer than silk brushed the delicate flesh of her eyelids, then grazed her cheekbone, then burrowed into her rain-softened hair.

  He was doing it again, she thought dismally. Making her smile, making her feel intensely desired, making her believe there could be absolutely nothing more right or delightful than fooling around with him. Ice-cream cones, damn him.

  His lips teased the corner of her mouth, nipping and gently biting until she parted her own. He waited then, eyes soft and silent on hers before he moved. His tongue flicked at the entrance of her lips, then thrust in, filling every secret moist corner. He withdrew it, then thrust in again. And again. With a helpless, almost angry little murmur, Bree surged closer, rubbing her hips against his, a capitulation that she could no more have helped than breathing.

  “Honey.” Hart raised his mouth. Not far. “I know you’re hot for my bod, but try to slow down a little. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

  If it weren’t for the dance in his eyes, she would have killed him. Actually, it was probably because of the dance in his eyes that she wanted to. “Manning. Hasn’t one single woman in your life ever taught you to shut up?”

  “Nope. That’s going to be up to you.”

  Bree took a breath, a vulnerable softness suddenly haunting her eyes. “You know, the only reason I came over here was to tell you I didn’t want any more of this.”

  “Tell me, then,” Hart encouraged. Putting an elbow on both sides of her face, he cupped his chin in his hands, giving her all his encouraging attention.

  “I just did. Affairs just aren’t my thing, and I really don’t think getting involved with you is…wise,” she ended lamely.

  “Honey, you seem to be terribly confused. We are involved. And you like it just fine. You’ve been trying not to laugh for the better part of half an hour.”

  She bit her lip. “Hart, stop making this so hard-”

  His eyebrow flickered up. “You’re the one who made it so hard, honey.” He shifted his hips expressively.

  “Hart.”

  “You’re right. Let’s get serious, Bree.” Using an arm for leverage, he vaulted off her and, when standing, reached for her hand. She took it and raised herself up beside him, her lips still throbbing faintly from the pressure of his. The suddenly disappointed look in his eyes startled her. “If you really want to get serious that fast, we can move immediately to the bed. I’d planned on a little lengthy foreplay, but if you’re that hot, honey-”

 
; “Could you just once stop talking?”

  “Will you stop thinking so damn much? Arms up for my Valentino act.” He raised her arms himself, hooked them around his neck and slid one arm around her and the other under her thighs. “This is the carry-off-to-the-sunset scene. Although it’s my best guess that guy ended up in traction,” he murmured, just before his mouth crushed down, obliterating any chance of her reply.

  Chapter Ten

  Talk, talk, talk. Bree had never met a man who talked as much as Hart did. From the moment she met him, there’d been only one way to shut him up. With her arms loosely around his neck, she pressed a kiss on his mouth, effectively ending his incessant, annoying chatter.

  Whom do you think you’re fooling? Bree, you’re in trouble again, warned a small voice in her head. She banished the voice. As he carried her down the dark hall, her lips nuzzled his neck, trailing up so that her teeth could gently nip at his ear. Eyes closed, she let her fingers grope for the buttons on his shirt.

  Hart chuckled, murmuring something approving she didn’t quite hear, and then bent down to sink smooth, warm lips onto hers. They had to stop then, because Hart leaned back against the wall, and when the kiss was over his breathing was different and his pace had quickened toward the bedroom.

  Her heart picked up a murmur en route. A love murmur. If Hart thought he’d distracted her into this seduction, he was completely mistaken. She was being pushed into nothing. She knew damn well she was asking to be hurt-getting oneself involved with a womanizer wasn’t wise; he’d never seriously talked about anything permanent and undoubtedly had nothing more than a summer fling in mind. Tough. He made her laugh; he made her feel like screaming; he made her throw things; he made her feel alive, and every nerve ending now pulsed with wanting him.

  But to toss out a whole lifetime of sane, rational behavior for one wild fling at love? Yes, murmured the exuberant voice in her head. Yes yes yes. What choices do you have beyond going back to being dependable old Bree again in a few more weeks? This is your chance. Hart seems to take for granted that you’re an uninhibited wanton who throws caution to the wind. Be that wildly passionate woman, just once; be wanton, just once. There’ll never be anyone like Hart in your life again…

  She meant the words, she felt the emotions, she ached with the richness of freedom released in her soul…but all of her bravery dissipated in the doorway to the bedroom. Hart paused, suddenly looking down at her with dark, too-far-seeing eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” How could he have noticed that tiny lick of tension in her spine?

  “Something is.” Still carrying her, he nudged her cheek with his when she tried to duck her head.

  “I was just worrying that you were going to break your neck, toting me around like this.”

  “Bree.” There was a lot of gentle scolding in that single syllable.

  She lowered her eyes, leaning her cheek to his shoulder. “Could we…” She hesitated. “Hart, could we go somewhere else? Please?”

  “You mean, somewhere besides the bedroom?”

  “It’s just…king-size beds and satin sheets…it’s not my thing. I feel…” She hesitated again.

  “Silly?”

  She let out a breath and gave a half smile. “Inhibited,” she confessed with embarrassment. He undoubtedly did this with dozens of women. That was, of course, his prerogative, but that bedroom made her think of his dozens of other women.

  “Inhibited? That’ll be a cold day in hell.”

  “Hart,” she reproved.

  Slowly, he released her until her feet touched the floor, but he didn’t let her go. Thoughtfully, he brushed her hair from her face and smoothed one fingertip over her cheek in a soft, silent caress. Gently, he leaned his forehead to hers. “Honey. I bought those sheets the day before yesterday. To seduce you on.”

  “Oh.”

  “They’re slippery, I discovered last night. So slippery they make the pillows skim onto the floor as if they’re on a toboggan run. They’re also cold. Takes forever for a body to warm them up. Even so…”

  “You want to try them?”

  His lips just touched her forehead, and his voice came out languid and slow. “The kitchen table’s fine by me, honey. So is right here on the hall carpet. I thought the lady might feel…luxurious. Pampered. You need some pampering, Bree.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She sighed. Knowing Hart, he’d argue all night. “But the…”

  “Water bed? Great for a bad back, but one does get the feeling that isn’t why the owner put it in.” Hart pulled her arms back up around his neck, and then dipped his head to nuzzle the curve of her shoulder. “You think I’ve set up a swinging singles scene in there, honey. Won’t wash. I just rented the place, and I outgrew one-night stands about ten years ago. Traveling-alone-can be the loneliest life there is.”

  Hart’s eyes pinned hers, a dark blue that was fathomless and intense. There was a gravity to his features that begged her to trust, to believe. With a small smile, she touched her finger to his lips. “Hart, you’re totally destroying the decadent image you’ve built up.”

  For once Hart didn’t smile back. “And is that an image you want, Bree?”

  She stared up at him in confusion.

  “I think it is,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what hurt you so badly, honey, but I think you’ve convinced yourself that all you want is a wild, free affair. A fling where there are no consequences and you only have to open up your heart so far…You’re wrong, Bree. You’re wrong as hell. But if that’s all you’re looking for, I’ll be damned if you’ll have that affair with anyone else.”

  “Hart…” He was implying she was using him, and he was wrong, terribly wrong. Surely he was wrong. Hart was the one who had a harem; Bree had never been capricious. Hart had made all the first moves, never Bree. And he was the one who’d deliberately built up the decadent image…but it was a fraud; she saw now just how much of a fabrication that was. Uncertain green eyes fluttered up to his. “Look, I never…”

  “Don’t talk,” he murmured. “Talk’s never as honest as touch. If you want wild, believe me I can give you wild, honey…” His mouth stole closer, and when he claimed her lips he never once let them go.

  Thunder exploded in the night, and Bree instinctively curled closer to Hart’s warm body. The clock next to her ticked past three. Raindrops gushed down the windowpanes; swords of lightning dueled in the darkness outside.

  She couldn’t sleep.

  The pillows were on the floor. They’d slid there hours before; the satin sheets were just as slippery as Hart had said. Beneath her, the bed cradled the two of them in a cocoon of warmth and softness, and every once in a while she could see the reflection of lightning on the full-length mirror by the bed.

  She kept staring at that mirror, seeing images in it that weren’t there. Images of Hart poised over her, his body dark gold and damp, the rhythm of his limbs as he made love to her. Her own image, with her throat arched back, her breasts raised brazenly for his touch; the image of a stranger, a beautifully sensual woman with slumberous eyes and a sleek, proud body, who twined around her mate with all the primitive desire of an Eve.

  She’d never meant to look in the mirror, any more than she’d meant to enjoy the satin sheets. She’d felt somewhat inhibited at first, her tension sparked by Hart’s disturbing words. Only he’d stripped off her clothes and never given her the chance to think, and these…sensations…had just kept coming. And it wasn’t the sensuality of satin that set it off; it was the sensuality of the man. Hart, so fiercely passionate, teasing her and whispering and coaxing…

  So beautiful. Whenever he touched her she felt so incredibly beautiful, and she wanted to say, This really isn’t me, you know, Hart. It just happens when I’m with you…

  A warm palm suddenly slid under her arm, over her ribs and behind her, very sneakily, making her smile in the darkness. “Still not sleepy?”
Hart scolded groggily. “Not nightmares, though, Bree?”

  “Not nightmares at all,” she affirmed, and snuggled closer.

  “We’ve lost our pillows.”

  She chuckled softly. “You warned me about the satin sheets.”

  His palm made slow concentric circles on her spine, and only gradually moved up to sift through her hair. “The lady liked the satin sheets,” he said with satisfaction. “She also liked the mirror.”

  “She never looked.”

  “Oh, yes, she did.” Even in the darkness, she could see the crooked smile on his lips as he leaned up on one elbow. His eyes were luminous, and suddenly there was no smile. “You trust me, Bree, did you know that?”

  She parted her lips, but said nothing.

  “Trust isn’t a measure of how long and how well you’ve known someone. It’s an instinct. You could have kicked me out of the cabin that first time, Bree. You could have stopped me from making love to you with a single word. Several times I made you very, very angry, but your trust was still there. We didn’t have sex, honey-we didn’t even make love.” He bent over to kiss her forehead, then her lips. “We touched the stars. A woman doesn’t give that way unless there’s a very special trust.”

  “I never said I didn’t trust you,” she countered softly.

  “You didn’t have to.” His thumb rubbed the edge of her bottom lip. “I want to know about your nightmares,” he said quietly. “I want to know about the haunted look that sometimes comes into your eyes. I want to know what happened that was so terrible you couldn’t talk about it. Can you trust out loud yet, Bree?”

  She didn’t answer. There was a foolish lump in her throat, and her eyes blurred with the faintest glistening of tears. She couldn’t tell him about Gram; she couldn’t tell anyone about Gram, but she felt like shouting that she’d given him more than she’d given any other man. Wasn’t it enough?

  He wanted too much; from the beginning he’d wanted too much. And even if she could have told him about Gram…she had to draw a line somewhere. She’d never shared her feelings easily; with Hart she felt more vulnerable than she’d ever felt before, and Hart’s nature was so clearly to capture and claim and possess…but when he moved on? When she had to go back to being “just Bree” again? “Dammit, what do you want from me?” she said.