by Jan Freed
Drawing close to another open door, he slowed and stopped on the threshold, his muttered oath part curse, part prayer.
The room was lit by two squat candles flickering on the nightstand. Catherine sat in the middle of the bed, her legs tucked primly to the side. Candlelight caressed white skin and ivory satin with a shadowy, lapping motion. Her cat-in-the-dark eyes were mysterious and watchful.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” he finally managed.
“I wanted you to come to me.”
Lord have mercy. She couldn’t mean it like it sounded. He looked at the nightstand, the dresser— anywhere but at her. “is there something you need?”
“Yes, please.”
Her throaty whisper lingered in the quiet, waiting.…pulling…dragging his gaze back to her heavy-lidded eyes.
“I need vow, Joe.”
His heart stopped, then lurched to rib-cracking life. “You’re tired. Your emotions are strung out from here to Columbus. Tomorrow you’ll feel different. Go to sleep.”
“Come here.”
Oh, God, he thought, don’t do this. Not when I’m trying to be responsible for once in my life!
“What about Carl?” he said desperately.
Something flickered in her eyes and she started to speak, then looked down and smoothed the bedspread. “We’ll have a marriage of convenience, Joe. Our hearts aren’t involved.”
Savage triumph swelled and died. He’d seen the way Pretty Boy looked at her these days. “What about your private practice? Because I guarantee he won’t foot the bill if he thinks there’s anything between us. Are you willing to risk everything, Catherine? Stop for a minute and think.”
She flung up her chin. “I don’t want to think. I’m tired of thinking! Thinking is for dried-up academics who plan every trip to the John.”
He winced at the phrase he’d once thrown at her so cruelly.
“Tonight I want to feel, not think, like I did when you kissed me under the tree. Please help me feel something besides pain.” She lifted her slender arms and opened them in invitation.
He closed his eyes against the sight, knowing he should walk away, rooted in hellish limbo on the threshold. “You’d hate me later,” he predicted.
“But if you leave, I’ll hate you more.”
The soft conviction in her voice raised the hairs along Joe’s arms. A rustle on the bed flared his nostrils. He opened his eyes and stiffened.
She stood and walked toward him, a fantasy vision in the floor-length satin gown. Its thigh-high slit flashed a long shapely leg with every second step. He smelted her as she drew near, the blend of roses and natural female so imprinted on his brain he could have picked her out blindfolded in a room full of women. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
When her bare toes touched his boots, she stopped and lifted her hands. “One minute with these babies—” she wiggled her fingers “—and you’ll do anything I want.”
“Catherine—”
“Shh.” She pressed two fingertips against his lips, then trailed them over his cheek, his nose, his increasingly damp brow. “Are you hot, Joe?”
The passion he’d felt under the tree was nothing— a boy’s hunger—next to the ravenous heat in his blood now. Then, he’d caught her by surprise. Tonight, she’d come to him.
She twined both arms around his neck and looked up through her lashes. “I’m hot. In fact, I’m burning.”
Staring into the green flames of her eyes, he felt poised on the rim of a volcano. “You know this is wrong, Catherine,” he said, trying one last useless time.
“Then why does it feel so right?”
Reason fled. He jumped in with both feet. His open mouth lowered to her warm waiting one, and the earth’s molten core closed over his head. Searing, bubbling, roaring in his ears.
Her hands delved into his hair and his did the same to hers, threading the sleek wet strands and cupping the back of her head. He slanted his mouth for deeper access and silently invited her to join the thrusting dance. She did, startling him by leading as often as she was led.
The tongue that could flay him with words stroked his mouth like an experienced courtesan’s, making him wonder what else it could do. She broke the kiss and tilted his head, swirling her tongue in his ear and providing at least one erotic answer.
She seemed as hungry as he was, her mouth eating him up in small nibbles, taking a piece of his earlobe, his jaw, his Adam’s apple. Latching onto the vulnerable spot on his neck he’d claimed for his own on hers when he’d backed her against a tree.
He slid his hands down bare skin to her satin derriere and cupped the slippery curves. The liquid fire rose, pulsed, threatened to erupt. He squeezed the flesh-warmed satin filling his hands, then slipped an arm beneath her knees and swept her up against his chest. If he didn’t slow things down he’d be done for, and he’d waited too long, wanted to please Catherine too much, for him to let that happen.
He carried her to the edge of the bed and sat, positioning her as he wanted in his lap. “Let’s just sit for a minute, okay?”
She searched his eyes, her hesitancy changing to cat-that-ate-the-fish-stick satisfaction. “Your thighs are so hard they don’t feel human,” she murmured, testing the muscles with a probing touch. “All those deep knee bends behind the plate must be better than a StairMaster.”
He made a noncommittal sound, his attention focused on her shifting bottom. Grinding his teeth, he cursed himself for not putting more space between them.
Her fingers fluttered over the biceps of his left arm and settled like a white dove. “You’re very strong and you have a beautiful body. But you want to know what’s really sexy?”
Did a pitcher chew tobacco? “What?”
“Your.brain.”
He peered suspiciously down at her upturned face. “My what?”
“Your brain. Watching you these past weeks, seeing you stop hiding your intelligence behind all that brawn…” Her eyes darkened with unmistakable desire. “There’s nothing you can’t do now if you set your mind to it, Joe. That’s incredibly sexy.”
So much for slowing down. He gathered her close in his arms and rocked a joyful moment. “Ah, Catherine. Only you can compliment my brain and give me the hard-on of a lifetime.”
“I can?” She pushed away from his chest and studied him hopefully.
Half-laughing, half-groaning, he scooted her to one thigh, captured her hand and curled her fingers over the proof.
“I did,” she stated, her voice wondrous, her expression awed.
Suddenly he couldn’t breathe for the emotion filling his chest. She’d had so little love in her life, this warm and giving woman. She deserved to wallow in it, to drown in it, for the rest of her days on earth. And worthy or not, he wanted to be the one to give it to her—not some goddamn Pretty Boy.
“Joe?” The hesitancy was back in her eyes.
His face must look as fierce as he felt.
“We’ve sat long enough,” he said, cinching his arms around her waist and falling back, back onto the soft springy mattress.
She sprawled across his chest, but he rolled with her until she lay beneath him, wide-eyed and expectant, her kiss-swollen lips parted along with her legs. He rose up on his elbows and she thrust beneath him once as if unable to help herself.
It was all he could do not to get free of his jeans and bury himself deep and hard and now,
“Easy,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss a creamy shoulder, a delicate collarbone, the V of her gown’s plunging neckline.
He slipped the thin straps off her shoulders and peeled the sensuous material down, exposing translucent white flesh softer than her fine satin gown. As he paid homage to her small perfect breasts, her breathing changed to soft aroused pants. He lavished attention on her narrow rib cage and the sweet valley between her hipbones, thrilling to the restless moan he wrenched from her throat.
When he moved lower she stopped breathing altogether. He lifted his head. Her pass
ion-drugged eyes flickered with embarrassment, and he knew she’d never experienced this before.
“Let me, Catherine,” he pleaded hoarsely, waiting in ardent agony for some sign of permission, receiving it with the simple drifting shut of her eyelids.
Growling a rumble of satisfaction, he lowered his head and loved her good and well, her mounting pleasure causing his own excitement to build until he thought he would burst when she found her release.
During her float back down to earth, he shucked his boots, jeans and shirt and lunged up to cover her naked flesh with his. In one swift thrust, he buried himself where he’d wanted to be for more weeks than he’d like to admit. “Ah, yeah, this feels good. This feels right.” He sighed. “Now, if I could only say something brainy…”
Catherine opened dazed eyes and smiled. “Put a little muscle into it, Tucker.”
God, he loved this woman! Raising up on his elbows, he gave her a slow, crooked grin. “Whatever you say, Teach.”
CATHERINE WAS ROUSED from the depths of her coma by a tickling sensation on her shoulder. She burrowed her face deeper in her pillow and started to sink back into oblivion. The tickle persisted, trailing like insect legs down her outflung arm.
Her eyes popped open. She scrambled upright and slapped wildly at her arm, searching the rumpled sheets for the vile intruder in her bed and seeing long masculine fingers, instead. Her gaze traveled past wrist, hair-dusted forearm and sculpted marble shoulder to an irresistible grin and teasing dark eyes.
“Mornin’, doll.”
When had the word ceased to be offensive and become a treasured endearment? “Good morning.”
Joe clasped his hands behind his head on the pillow, his grin fading as his gaze lowered. “A damn good one.”
She reached for the sheet and pulled it to her chin, struck by belated shyness. Ridiculous, considering the intimacies they’d shared throughout the night. Oh, what had she done?
“You’re analyzing, Catherine. That’s never a good idea the morning after. Things seem too different. You need, time to adjust. We’ll sort this out later when you know exactly how you feel.”
His sensitivity didn’t surprise her, not now that she knew him so well. Knew exactly how much she loved him. The rest was a confused tangle, but that much was clear.
She studied the picture he made against her flowersprigged pillowcase, recording it in her memory to bring out in the lonely days ahead. His dark tousled hair, his beard-shadowed chin and jaw, the swelled biceps framing his face, the sheer manliness that made other men seem less masculine, however unfair that was.
“Come here,” he said, his voice low and gruff, his eyes telling her she was desirable and wanted, if only for the moment.
But the moment would pass.
Despite her brave intentions, her smile trembled just a bit. “What happened to letting me sort out how I feel?”
“Maybe I want to refresh your memory.”
They exchanged a long intense look filled with remembered passion, and heaven help her, the sweet melting process began again.
“Come here,” he crooned.
She leaned forward, drawn by the mesmerizing tether of her lover’s eyes.
A sudden noise broke the connection. A noise suspiciously like the front door opening downstairs. She saw her startled shock reflected in Joe’s eyes, then he was whipping back the covers and pulling on his jeans.
“I didn’t check the lock last night. Anyone have a key to your house?”
“Father. But he isn’t due for three days.”
Joe zipped up, nodded grimly and said, “Stay here.”
Adrenaline shot through her as he moved into the hallway. She thrashed her way out of bed, slipped on her discarded nightgown and searched the room for a weapon. Idiot manly man, did he want to get himself shot? She grabbed the portable phone with the vague intention of calling for help and crept into the hall.
Joe stood frozen at the top of. the stairs, his gaze riveted on something—or someone—below. Oh, God. She started to punch in 911.
“Enjoy your lesson, Tucker, or were you the teacher in this case? Lord knows she could use some tutoring in that area.”
Carl. Horror paralyzed her poised finger.
Menace emanated from Joe in waves. “I’m gonna let that slide, considering the situation. But watch yourself, buddy. You won’t get a second chance.”
“Just who gave whom a bloody nose, you filthy bastard? Where is she? I want to talk to her.”
“You’ll have to talk later.”
“The hell I will. Catherine?”
“Don’t do it, Wilson. Turn around and walk back down those steps. You’re not thinking straight right now.” Although his voice sounded calm, Joe’s fists were clenched, his legs braced for a fight.
Trapped in a living nightmare of her own making, Catherine walked slowly forward. “I’m here, Carl,” she called. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
She ignored Joe’s warning glance and moved up beside him. It took every ounce of Catherine’s courage to meet Carl’s eyes.
They were as cold as liquid nitrogen.
“So tell me, Catherine, was he compatible?”
Shame swept through her from head to toe. No man deserved this from his fiancee, no matter how loveless the bond. She’d agreed to marry him knowing full well his reasons for asking. She’d owed him her respect at the very least.
He set a large bag on the step above him, his smile caustic. “My little romantic surprise backfired, I see. Since I’m too late to help you work up an appetite, darling, I’ll just leave this here. You must be starving.”
She read the name of an exclusive bakery on the bag just as the scent of warm Danish reached her nose. To her utter humiliation, her stomach growled loudly.
He held up a key and placed it beside the bag. “Please return this to your father. I’m afraid I can’t be the protector he wanted any longer. You’ll have to find another fianoé for the job—if you can.” His sweeping look made it insultingly clear what he thought of her chances.
Standing there in her crumpled satin nightgown, knowing her wild hair and abraded skin branded her like a scarlet letter, she made a small sound of distress. Suddenly Joe’s arm curled around her waist and hugged her to his side.
“She’s already found one, buddy—if she’ll have me,” Joe said in a hard tight voice.
Her heart soared. She flung her head back and searched his beloved face. His gaze moved from Carl’s to hers, the competitive glitter in his eyes changing to inscrutable watchfulness.
He doesn’t want this, she thought, wondering how a shattered heart could continue beating.
His awakened sense of responsibility, his gentlemanly instincts—those were what had prompted his offer. He’d told her often enough that he didn’t want or need a wife. To love him as she did without receiving his love in return would be a thousand times worse than a marriage of convenience.
“I hate to interrupt this touching scene,” Carl said acidly, “but, Catherine, there’s a little matter of my parents and two hundred guests we need to discuss. Shall I come back in, say, an hour?”
Removing Joe’s arm from her waist was the hardest thing Catherine had ever done. “That’s fine, Carl, it will give you time to adjust. When you come back, we’ll sort this out and see how you feel then. Maybe we can salvage something from the mess I’ve made of things.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JOE ZIPPED UP his last bag and hoped he hadn’t forgotten anything. Two mornings ago Catherine had made it clear he had no place in her future. No way was he coming back.
He scanned the apartment one last time, his eyes straining with the effort to memorize details. The bright colors and wall art he’d found so irritating that first day seemed interesting and provocative now. Over the past month his attitude about a lot of things had changed—especially about himself.
He would never be perfect, not by a long shot. But if there was any chance he could influence his future, he was
willing to give it a try. He’d much rather make his own decisions and accept the consequences than drift along at the mercy of someone else’s agenda.
According to Norman, Joe’s new confidence and polish really showed on his latest demo tape. Copies of the tape had hit the post office yesterday and, with any luck, would generate some promising interviews. His participation in Catherine’s crazy bet would’ve been time well spent.
If only he hadn’t fallen in love with her.
Juliet slunk out from under the sofa and rubbed against his leg. Joe crouched down into a catcher’s squat and stroked her arching back. The steady ache in his chest intensified.
“So what’s Romeo’s secret, girl? I seem to’ve lost my touch.”
When Catherine had pulled away from him on the stairs and scrambled to get back into Pretty Boy’s good graces, everything in Joe had grown cold. The worst part was knowing she’d been right to do it. As much as he’d wanted to play Prince Charming come to the rescue, the castle and all its riches belonged to Carl. He doubted anything else could’ve kept him from fighting like hell to change her mind.
Snow White deserved her happily-ever-after.
Looked like she’d get it, too, because she’d told him yesterday the engagement was still on—party, bet and all. He could imagine what she must’ve told Carl in private to pull that off. Probably something about sowing her last wild oats, along with assurances that Joe was out of her system now.
Thank God he hadn’t blurted out his feelings during their incredible night together. Catherine was just starved enough for affection to choose his love over Carl’s offer of certain security. He probably wouldVe let her, too, if not for the lessons in responsibility he’d learned at her hands. The irony was laughable.
Sighing, he gave Juliet a final affectionate scratch, saluted Romeo perched on the green patio table and grabbed a suitcase in each hand. He heard Allie pound up the stairs just as he reached the door.
