"Looks delicious," he said, grinning at her.
"Jake!" Desi whirled away from him, pulling the nightshirt back up over her shoulders, hurriedly buttoning it. "What are you doing in here?"
"I heard you moving around, so I brought in your suitcases." He motioned toward the two canvas bags standing at the foot of the bed.
"What were you doing?" she asked suspiciously, turning to face him. "Lurking in the hall?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," he said, surprising her.
Desi's eyes opened even wider. "Why?"
"I wanted to talk to you—privately," he replied, rising lazily from the chair to move toward her.
Desi backed away a step or two, still clutching the front of her nightshirt. "You could do that anytime. You didn't have to invade my bedroom."
"This house is full of people," he informed her easily.
"And you think they don't know you're in here?" she scoffed, taking false courage from his mild demeanor.
He smiled again and took another step toward her. Desi hastily backed away. "Not unless you tell them," he said. "Everyone's at breakfast. Outside on the sun porch. It's a beautiful day, in case you hadn't noticed yet."
"Isn't it a little late for breakfast?" she said. "Shooting was supposed to start hours ago..." Her voice trailed off. Dumb, she thought, to call his attention to her own lateness.
"No filming today," he said, surprising her again.
Jake was suddenly full of surprises. She was beginning to think he had taken some mood-or mind-altering drug. He had never before been so lighthearted about a delay—if it was a delay—in the shooting schedule. Time is money, he was often heard to yell, my money.
"Why?" she said.
"Why what?" he asked vaguely, his dark eyes beginning to wander over her face and her pinned-up hair in a way that left her breathless.
"Why no shooting?" she managed to stammer.
"One of the vans broke down about halfway between San Francisco and here last night. Couldn't get anybody to work on it until this morning," he said as if it didn't bother him in the least. "So today we're all playing hooky."
"Oh," she said. "How nice."
"Yes, isn't it?" His hand reached out then and touched her neck, just at the place where it began to curve into her shoulder, too close to the telltale pulse that had begun to beat wildly. "Very nice."
Desi clutched her nightshirt tighter and stepped back again, instinctively seeking to protect herself from his maddening touch. She always melted when he touched her. She couldn't melt again. Not now. Not here, in Dorothea's house.
The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, halting her, and she was forced to sit down abruptly. Jake's body followed her, pushing her back into the rumpled sheets.
"Jake, please," she began, struggling to sit up, trying to pull down the hem of her nightshirt at the same time.
"Please what?" he teased her.
He held himself propped up on one elbow, holding her down by the simple expedient of placing his other hand on her shoulder. She couldn't kick or struggle, she realized. She was naked under the brief shirt.
"Jake, stop it," she said as sharply as she could manage. It came out in a mere whisper.
"I haven't done anything yet," he said reasonably, and she dared to look up into his face. He was smiling down at her, a strange, almost tender, look in his eyes. "But I will if you keep looking at me like that," he said, low.
"Like what?" Her soft voice, her eyes, invited him.
"Like my Desiree," he said, and then he leaned down, the hand on her shoulder slipping around her back to gather her close. "Sweet Desiree," he murmured, and kissed her.
It was like very first kiss her had given her. A sweet kiss. A kiss that that explored and cajoled and coaxed rather than demanded. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, outlining her lips with sweetness and patience until she opened to him like a blossoming flower.
She felt him sigh into her mouth—a soft shuddering sigh—and she turned to him, molding her mouth more closely to his, twining her arms helplessly around the strong column of his neck, her fingers feasting greedily in his thick hair.
His hand was on the outside curve of her thigh, sliding up her leg under the nightshirt. Gliding slowly, sensuously, up over her rounded hip and the surprisingly lush inward-sloping curve of her waist, to close tenderly, adoringly over her breast.
He seemed content for the moment just to hold her thus, making no effort to arouse her further, as yet. He kissed her as if that was his sole purpose, as if he had all the time in the entire world, drinking in her intoxicating sweetness, giving her back an intoxication of his own unique making.
Suddenly his hand stilled on her breast and he raised his head.
"What is it?" she began groggily.
"Shush," he said against her lips, listening, and Desi stilled, listening too.
There were noises coming from the adjoining bathroom. They could hear water being run into the porcelain sink, and the sound of the door of the medicine cabinet being opened and closed.
Audrey.
"Jake," Desi said, squirming under him. "Let me up."
"Why?" He began to tease her. "You ashamed to be seen with me? Oh, all right. All right. I came up here to talk anyway." His hand slid slowly from her breast, across the flatness of her stomach, to stop at the mole on her hip. He sat up and leaned over, placing his lips for a brief instant on the tiny mole. "To remind me where to start later," he said, smoothing her nightshirt down as far as it would go. He sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling her upright with him.
"There isn't going to be a later," she said, blushing.
"Oh, yes there is," he stated firmly. "Lots of laters." He reached out to touch her again, brushing back the loose, straggling hair from her face.
Desi jumped to her feet. "No, Jake," she warned him off. "No more. I don't know what got into me to allow you to—"
"What almost got into you," he corrected her, grinning comically.
"Jake!" she admonished, trying to convince him—and herself—that she was shocked by his teasing words, but showing them both only how excited he made her.
She turned away, hiding her red face from him. "You said you wanted to talk to me," she reminded him.
"Yes, so I did."
She heard the bed creak as he got up and then felt his hand on her arm, turning her to face him. "Look at me, Desiree," he commanded gently, his hands on her shoulders holding her still in front of him.
"Desi," she corrected him.
"You'll always be Desiree to me," he told her and then said once more, "Look at me."
She looked up into his face. There was that odd look again. Tender, friendly, a little uncertain, perhaps, with the desire still in his eyes.
"I've been doing some heavy thinking since Friday night," he said seriously. "Since before then, really. And I realize that I've been wrong about you. Eldin isn't your lover and he never has been."
"Yes, you told me that already," she pointed out.
"So I did." He ran one hand distractedly through his hair. "You're obviously very good at your job, too," he said. "A total professional."
"Well, thank you," she said archly, and he had the grace to look a little shamefaced. "But you told me that, too."
"Look, I don't pretend to know exactly why you went to bed with me that night," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Why you stayed with me that weekend. But it's obviously not for the reasons I thought. Not at first and not later, either. You're not some sort of groupie. Even I can see that—now."
"Not at first?" What did he mean, not at first? "What do you mean—" she started to say, and then was stopped by his next words.
"Desiree, I misjudged you in the worst way possible," he said, intent on saying it all now that he had started. "And I know that I've been almost impossible to work with." He turned to the window, his fingers raking through his hair again.
Desi could hardly believe it. Could this be the great Jake Lancing? Th
e man who had been such a bad-tempered bear on the set, apologizing? To her? A smile began to turn her mouth up at the corners.
"I'd go down on my knees to apologize if I thought it would do any good," he went on, his back to her. "If I thought it would help you to forgive me for being such a thickheaded..." He groped for a word.
"Ass," she supplied, unable to stifle the sudden glee that bubbled to the surface.
He whirled around, trying to read her expression. Was she angry? Hurt? Resentful? No, her eyes were laughing and she was having trouble suppressing a smile.
"All right," he agreed with a grin. "I was behaving like a thickheaded ass." He moved quickly across the width of carpet that separated them and gathered her close in his arms. "Do you think we can start over?" he said, serious again. She felt his lips brush her hair. "See if there's a real relationship here? Something beyond this." His hand caressed her buttocks briefly. "Not that this isn't extremely nice, of course, but I'd like more," he whispered into her ear.
"You haven't apologized yet," she said, trying hard not to throw herself into his arms in glorious abandon. His warm lips were wreaking havoc with her senses, and there was a bright bubble of happiness rising up from deep inside her, making it very difficult for her to keep a straight face. "On your knees, I think you said."
"Witch," he growled, but he started to slide to the floor.
"Oh, no, Jake, I was only teasing," she said as he began to sink to his knees in front of her. "Get up!" She tugged him to his feet. "I forgive you," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull his head down to hers.
Dorothea was right, she thought. Lust could turn into love—or, at least into liking. It was up to her now to turn it into something lasting.
She should tell him about Stephanie, she thought guiltily. Start out today with a clean slate. But not now, she told herself. Not this minute when she was so joyously happy. She'd do it later, when they had had time to build a firmer foundation of trust, when she had found just the right moment, the right words to tell him that he had a baby daughter.
"I forgive you anything... everything," she murmured fervently, just before his lips closed over hers.
I only hope you can forgive me as easily, she prayed.
Chapter 11
Jake lifted his head a long moment later. "We'd better stop this," he said, and then immediately voided his words by nuzzling his face against the soft curve of her neck.
"Why?" Desi wanted to know.
"Because—" his lips were against her ear "—everyone is waiting for us on the sun porch. I told you we're all playing hooky today. Well, Dorothea has plans to conduct a tour of her wine cellars. Total participation is mandatory, she says." He kissed her closed eyelids. "So she sent me up here to get you out of bed."
Desi's eyes opened reluctantly, and she leaned back in the warm circle of his arms. "Do you mean to tell me that the entire household knows you're up here?"
"Yep." He grinned, his expression as playful and loving as it had been in that hotel room in San Francisco.
"You beast." She pushed against his chest. "I thought you said that nobody would know you were in this room unless I told them. I think you've deliberately ruined my reputation." She tsked. "What's Dorothea going to think?"
"That I've come to my senses, probably, and am doing what I should have done months ago. How does she put it in her book? A rowdy, rollicking tumble under the covers?"
"You haven't been up here long enough for that—" Desi began, her face beginning to turn a delicious shade of pink.
"Plenty long enough," he corrected her, pulling her back into his arms for another kiss. "Since your reputation is already ruined, what do you say we finish what we started?" He began edging them back toward the bed.
"Oh, no, you don't." Desi resisted him, digging in her heels, and he stopped to look down into her face.
"Why not? They already suspect the worst."
"They may suspect the worst," she admitted, twisting lightly out of his arms, "but I can still look Dorothea in the eye with a clear conscience."
"Dorothea doesn't care about a clear conscience. Haven't you read her book?" He made a move to recapture her.
"Oh, no, you don't," she repeated breathlessly, a little catch of laughter in her voice as she retreated to a far corner of the room. "You have to get out of this room. Now," she ordered, pointing at the door. "Go on. Out. I have to get dressed. We're supposed to be touring the wine cellars, remember?"
"I could help," he offered, grinning suggestively. "I'm very good with buttons."
"Lot of help you'd be," she jeered, laughing at him. "Now go."
"All right." He admitted defeat. "I'll go." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "But I'll be back for you later," he warned, disappearing into the hall. "When it's dark." His head reappeared around the edge of the door. "When you're alone. Asleep and unprotected. No one will hear your screams for mercy," he promised her.
"That's because I won't need to make any," she shot back.
"We'll see," he said. "We'll see." The door closed behind him, and she heard him whistling as he moved down the hall.
Desi hugged herself rapturously, doing a happy little dance step as she moved across the bare floor to toss her suitcases onto the bed.
It was going to be all right, she told herself joyously. It was all going to work out fine.
"You were right, Dorothea," she said aloud. "You were right."
Unlocking the suitcases, she began to rummage through them for something to wear. Nothing seemed appropriate. None of her usual jeans, not the loose boy-styled shirts or snug Tshirts seemed exactly right for today. She felt light as air, beautiful, ethereal...loved. Though he hadn't actually said the word, that's how she felt—loved. And she wanted to look that way. Too bad it wasn't dinnertime, she thought longingly. If it had been, then she could float down the stairs in her pastel silks with her hair curling down her back.
Jake had a thing about redheads, Dorothea said once. "That's wonderful—" Desi laughed aloud, as if she had only just realized it "—I'm a redhead."
She slipped out of her nightshirt, tossing it onto the clothes in her open suitcase and dug around until she found her favorite, most enticing set of underwear. Silky, powder-blue string bikini panties and a flimsy little camisole top, whisper sheer, that stopped, deliberately short, at the level of her navel.
She might look like a boy on the outside, but underneath she would be all enticing woman. And maybe, she giggled, just maybe, if she worked it right, Jake would see that, too. There were lots of places in a wine cellar where two people could accidentally get lost for a half an hour or so. Simple.
She stepped into the panties and pulled the wisp of sheer lace over her head. She'd wear her hair loose, too, she decided suddenly, instead of pinning it up into its usual topknot or neat braid. After all, she wasn't working today—and Jake liked her hair down. He'd said so.
"I've thought of how all that wild red hair curls so enticingly over your shoulders," he'd said, his voice husky with passion, his eyes dark and smoldering.
Desi shivered in remembered delight and anticipation and reached for a pair of knee socks. She tugged the fuzzy blue-and-pink striped socks on, pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped her arms into a powder-and-navy striped man-tailored. She brushed her hair, head down, until the unruly mass glowed like a shimmering coppery wave. Standing, she tossed its length over her shoulders and surveyed herself in the mirror.
A tiny frown creased her forehead. Something was missing. She stood, considering her image for a second or two, and then an impish smile curved her lips. Daringly she undid two more buttons than was usual for her, exposing the lacy edge of the pale-blue camisole.
"Not bad, Weston." She smiled at her reflection. "Not much, but not bad."
Suddenly her eyes caught those of her mirrored reflection and the smile faded from her face.
What are you so happy about, those blue eyes seemed to ask her. Nothing's really changed. You
still haven't told him about Stephanie.
"I will," she said out loud. "I will."
She turned away from the mirror abruptly, unable to face what she saw. She would tell him. Soon. As soon as they had had more time together, as soon as she was sure he loved her and that they had some kind of future together. Except... how would he feel in a week or a month from now, after you've developed this relationship and then you spring it on him? How will you break the news to him that he's a father?
"Oh, by the way, Jake. There's just one little thing I forgot to mention."
No. She had to tell him. And soon. Today. Or tomorrow at the latest. Yes, certainly tomorrow. She would give herself today to be happy. She would take today to bask in the glory of his warmth and tenderness and passion. And tomorrow she would somehow find the words to tell him.
She picked up her dinner tray from the floor to take it downstairs to Gerta.
"Everyone's still on the sun porch, waiting for you, Miss Weston," said the housekeeper when Desi handed her the tray. "It's out toward the back of the house." Gerta waved her out of the kitchen.
Desi wandered into a couple of wrong rooms—a banquet-sized dining room, then a library—before the sound of voices finally drew her in the right direction. She took a deep breath before pushing open the door to the glassed-in sun porch.
"Good morning, dear girl. I hope you slept well."
"Yes, fine. Thank you, Dorothea." She glanced around the table quickly. They were all there. Dorothea was charming in a chic red pantsuit. Michael wore casual in jeans and cowboy boots. Audrey was elegant and beautiful in a pair of cream-colored raw-silk pants and a matching sweater. And Jake was... Jake. Her eyes met his briefly, skittering away at his look of secret delight. "Morning everyone. Sorry I'm late."
"Well, come and have some coffee so we can get started," Dorothea ordered. "Or would you prefer tea? Eldin brought it up with him, so I assume it's probably drinkable."
One Night With You (The Heart of the City Series, Book 1) Page 15
