His thumb brushed an especially sensitive spot, and her legs fell open. Eagerness rushed through her blood and fed the desire already nearly choking her. His mouth. His hands. He suckled her and she gasped, feeling the drawing sensation right down to the soles of her feet. Too much, her brain shouted, but her body refused the warning. It would never be too much. Never. Her lungs heaved for air that wouldn't come. Her blood pumped through her veins, liquid fire.
"Travis," she said, lifting her hips higher off the bed, "I need … I need you. Now."
"Me, too, baby," he said, lifting his head long enough to kiss her firmly. Then he moved to kneel between her legs, and she watched as he stroked her center. A quickening started low in her belly. A flutter of expectation. A rush of urgency. When the first eruption began, he pushed himself inside her and she clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, closer.
He whispered her name, and it sounded like a prayer.
She looked up into his eyes and welcomed his kiss that joined them completely. His hands captured hers, fingers locking, gripping.
And then they were tumbling off the edge of a cliff, together.
* * *
Chapter 12
«^
"What do you mean you're still leaving?"
Travis sat up and looked at her. "This didn't change anything, Lisa."
Pain blended with fury. Just a half hour ago this man had held her, made love to her and even, for one brief moment, actually admitted his love for her. Now this? Lisa swung her hair back out of her eyes, pushed herself up and, clutching the sheet to her chest, demanded, "Then what will, Travis?"
He shook his head and stood up. Lisa couldn't take her gaze off him. In the lamplight pooling around him, his broad shoulders, muscular back and narrow hips shone golden, as if he were an impossibly gorgeous sculpture. But then he moved, shattering the image, and the look on his face when he turned toward her was too full of apology to be anything but real.
"That's the trouble. Nothing will."
"I don't accept that." She wouldn't. Couldn't. Darn it, she hadn't waited for love this long just to find it, then have it snatched away.
"You have to," he said, grabbing up his pants from the floor. Tugging them on, he glanced at her. "Hell, princess, you saw it yourself tonight."
"What do you mean?" She pushed one hand through her hair, angrily shoving it out of her way.
"That party. Those people." He threw his hands up and laughed, a short, raspy sound that held no humor. "I mean, your father's got an actual ballroom in his house."
"His house," she reminded him quickly. "Not mine."
"Doesn't matter," he said. "Don't you get it? That's what you're used to." He laughed again and shook his head. "I'd never be able to give you marble floors and private jets and chefs. I can't give you chauffeurs and designer dresses." He looked at her for a long minute, then added, "And I won't offer you less."
"You think I care about any of that?"
"I care. That's the point."
Panic reared its ugly head. All her life her father's money had mattered. Everyone she'd ever met had been suspect. Did they want to know her for herself or for the Chambers name and fortune? Now, it was coming down to the money again. Only, this time the man she loved didn't want her because of the money.
"But none of that matters to me, Travis. I'm not interested in what you can't give me." She clambered off the bed, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her naked body like a makeshift toga. Clutching it to her breasts with one hand, she reached out with the other and laid it flat on his chest. She concentrated briefly on the steady pound of his heart beneath her palm, then said, "I just want to know if you love me."
He caught her hand in his and squeezed it gently. Then, lifting it, he kissed her knuckles before releasing her again. Taking a step back from her, almost as if he didn't trust himself to be too close, he said, "Yes, Lisa. I love you."
Hope sparked to life in her heart, then winked out again a moment later when he kept talking.
"But I'm not going to ask you to marry me."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.
"Because," he said, his gaze locked with hers, "one of these days you'd regret giving up everything you've ever known for the kind of life you'd have as a Marine wife."
This couldn't be happening.
He loved her.
He'd admitted it.
And still she was going to lose him?
No. She wouldn't let her father's fortune be the deciding factor in her—their—happiness. She wouldn't let this be the end. "Travis—"
"I've already got a flight out. I leave tomorrow." The words tasted dry and bitter, but he forced himself to say them. This was for the best, he told himself. For both of them.
He didn't want to wake up one morning a few years from now and see regret in her eyes. Better he deal with the pain now, than wait until they had a few children. Children.
Baby.
His gaze shot straight to her eyes. "I'll call you in a few days."
"Why?"
"To see if—"
"Oh, yes," she said, and her voice sounded wounded, distant. "You have to do the right thing, don't you? Can't have a pesky pregnancy turning up without you knowing about it."
"Lisa…"
"What if I am pregnant?" she asked, lifting her chin into that defiant tilt he'd come to know so well in the desert. "What then, Travis?"
He didn't know. He just hoped to God she wouldn't be. Then neither of them would be forced into a marriage that could only end badly. It tore at him to think of leaving her … of never seeing her again. But what else could he do?
"We'll talk about that if and when it happens," he said.
"An answer for everything." She brushed past him, headed for the clothes she'd discarded such a short time ago.
He watched her as she let the sheet drop, and felt the hard, solid punch of desire again when he got another eyeful of her in that garter belt. But desire would die eventually if it was smothered by a blanket of resentment. And damn it, she would resent him. Sooner or later she would start thinking about what she could have had if she hadn't fallen in love with a Marine.
Two weeks ago he hadn't known she existed. Now the thought of living without her was almost enough to kill him. Who would have guessed that love could strike so quickly, so completely?
In just a few minutes she was dressed and facing him. Her expression was frozen. Only her eyes were alive and they glimmered with a pain he knew he'd caused. Travis fought down the urge to grab her and crush her to him. His arms ached, and an empty sensation opened up around his heart. The years ahead of him stretched out for an eternity that he knew would be filled with memories of her and the haunting images of what might have been.
"I'm not going to argue with you about this any longer, Travis," she said, and he heard goodbye in that short speech.
A part of him wanted her to argue. To find a way to talk him out of this decision. Yet a small, rational corner of his mind was grateful that she'd accepted it. Because her not fighting the inevitable would make this so much easier. Even though it killed him to know that she, too, was going to walk away.
"I thought you were different," she said. "I thought that this time it would be about me. Not my father's money—me."
That hit him hard. "I don't give a good damn about your father's money."
"Wrong, Travis. That's all you care about." She walked across the room and stopped alongside him. Looking up into his eyes, she shook her head, and when she spoke again, her tone held an iciness he'd never heard from her before. "When we should be celebrating our love, we're saying goodbye. Why? Because my father has money."
He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. "I'm doing this for you, Lisa."
"Uh-huh. Tell yourself that on those cold, lonely nights in your future, Travis. Maybe it'll help."
Then she left, quietly closing the door behind her. Silence crowded in a
round him. The shadows in the corners seemed to reach out for him, as if they were going to drag him deeper into the darkness. And then he knew. Nothing could help him through all the lonely nights to come.
* * *
Through delays and layovers and more delays, Travis's military transport flight took him hours longer than it would have, had he flown on a regular airline. And through it all his brain worked, taunting him, punishing him. Images of Lisa stayed with him, and he knew this was just the beginning. She'd never be out of his heart. His soul. Walking away from her had been like taking a knife and hacking off a limb. The ache went bone deep. Not even stepping out of the plane and into the hot Texas wind was enough to lighten the black mood riding him.
He called home to alert the family that he was on his way. Then he got a ride to the nearest car rental agency and within an hour he was driving down the road, headed home. But for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be there. His heart was in D.C.—and he never should have left.
His hands tightened on the wheel and squeezed. All he could think about was Lisa. Holding her, loving her, losing her. How she'd looked at him through wounded eyes.
"Damn it." He let go of the wheel just long enough to slam his fist against it. "I'm an idiot." That fact went down hard. But it was so true he couldn't deny it any longer. She'd risked everything. She was willing to give up everything. For him. And he'd looked her dead in the eye and told her it wasn't enough. He squeezed that steering wheel tightly enough to snap it in two. "Hell," he muttered, "I'm lucky she didn't shoot me."
But then she hadn't had to. The pain in her eyes had stabbed at him, doing far more damage than any weapon could have done. And there was only one cure for it. As he realized what he had to do—what he needed to do, a sense of urgency filled him. His heartbeat accelerated. His breathing quickened. Now all he had to do was convince Lisa.
Pulling into the drive, he listened to the scrape and rustle of the gravel beneath the tires, then parked the rental car behind his brother's truck. Judging by the three other cars clustered in the drive, the whole family had gathered to say hello. Well, he thought, scrambling out of the car, they'd just have to wait their turn. First things first.
Grabbing his duffel out of the back seat, he headed for the two-story Victorian where he'd grown up. Sunshine yellow with sage-green trim, the old place looked familiar, comfortable. It had withstood tornadoes, brush fires and more than a hundred years of hard living—not to mention him and his brothers.
The door flew open when he was halfway across the yard, and a grin he couldn't stop creased his face as he watched his sister race down the steps toward him. He dropped his bag and grabbed her up into a tight hug.
"Sarah, it's good to see you," he said as he swung her around before plopping her back onto her feet. Shifting his gaze to the house again, he asked, "Where's Mom?"
"Inside," she said, smiling. "Along with everybody else."
"Good. That's good." He nodded, grabbed up his duffel bag out of the back seat, then dropped one arm around his sister's shoulders. "I've got something to tell all of you."
"Yeah?" she asked, tipping her head back to look up at him. "What's that?"
"Not yet," he said, shaking his head. "First I have to make a phone call."
"Interesting."
"You have no idea." Already thinking ahead, Travis tried to come up with just the right words, just the right apologies that would convince Lisa to give him another chance. And if she wouldn't take his call, then he'd just fly back to D.C. and camp out on her father's doorstep until she had to talk to him.
"So who is she?"
"How do you know it's a she?"
"Oh, please." Sarah laughed and broke away from him, taking the five steps to the porch at a run.
His older brother, John, appeared in the doorway and held the screen door open for him. Grabbing the duffel, he said, "Been a while, little brother."
"Too long." He shook his brother's hand, then grinned as Lucas stepped into the hall, fists up, bobbing and weaving on the balls of his feet.
"Okay, Travis, I've been practicing, and this time I'm gonna win."
"Later." Ignoring his brothers and sister, he walked on into the living room, looking for his mother. God, it felt good to be back here. Here, where nothing changed. Where family was everything. And here is where he wanted Lisa.
"Hello, honey," his mother said and walked across the polished wood floor to collect a hug.
"Hi, Mom." His arms went around her, lifting her clean off the floor until she squealed, slapped his shoulders and demanded to be set down. Her sharp, brown gaze locked on him even as she smiled and shook her head. "You're too thin. But I can take care of that."
"I've been looking forward to your cooking for weeks," he said. "And as soon as I make a phone call, I'll be ready for everything you've got."
"A phone call? To whom?"
"Lisa. Mom, you're gonna love her. She's funny and smart and way too good for me."
"Is that right?"
"Oh, yeah." He shoved one hand across the top of his head and moved to the phone. "Now all I have to do is convince her that I love her."
He picked up the receiver as his mother said, "Why don't you go on and get something to eat first?"
"This can't wait," he told her with a grin, but took a long deep breath, hoping for the scent of his mother's special pot roast. That grin dissolved into a thoughtful scowl. He could have sworn he smelled Lisa's perfume. That mingled scent of citrus and flowers seemed to be everywhere, now that he noticed. But that wasn't possible—so clearly, he was way further gone than even he'd thought. His mind was conjuring up her scent just to torture him.
Shaking his head, he dialed 0 and asked for directory assistance. Then he waited.
"What's the matter, Travis?" Sarah asked.
"Nothing."
His sister laughed and his mother warned, "Sarah…"
Lucas and John grinned at him, and Travis had the distinct feeling that everyone here was in on a joke but him. "What's goin' on?" he demanded, and an instant later heard the answer to his question.
"Frances," a too-familiar female voice called from the kitchen, "something's wrong."
"What city please?" a voice in his ear inquired, and slowly he hung up the phone and turned around.
Travis swallowed hard and fought down a rush of expectancy. He shot his mother a look, but she only shrugged, smiled and dropped into a chair. Footsteps tapped against the floorboards, and he watched Lisa hurry down the hall from the kitchen.
She wore faded blue jeans, a denim shirt and sneakers. Her blond hair was in a ponytail that danced with her every step, she had his mother's apron tied around her middle and a wooden spoon in her hand.
He felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. All the air left his body, and he had to try twice just to say her name. "Lisa?"
She ignored him, staring directly at his mother. "Frances, everything's ruined. The stew's boiling over and the bread's black."
"I'll be right there," his mother assured her as Lisa whirled around and marched back down the hall. When she was gone, Frances looked up at her son. "I could go help … unless, of course, you'd like to offer your services instead."
With his family's laughter bursting out around him, Travis stalked down the short hallway, pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the large, square, pale-blue kitchen. He wasn't crazy. She really was there. In his house. At the stove. And she wasn't looking at him.
Grabbing her, he turned her around, keeping both hands at her shoulders. Those blue eyes of hers stared up at him, and he'd never been so glad to see anyone in his life. But he fought down the elation streaking through him to get a few answers first.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"At the moment," she said, with a disgusted glance at the stove behind her, "burning dinner. But I'll learn."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." Lisa stared up at him and tried to
keep her heart from bursting right out of her chest. It hadn't been difficult to decide how to handle this. The moment she'd left him in that hotel room, she'd gone home, packed a bag and commandeered her father's jet for a ride to Texas.
His family had welcomed her, and she'd kept herself busy, telling herself she'd done the right thing. She'd known that the only way to fight Travis's stubbornness was to ignore it. But ever since she'd arrived, doubts had plagued her. What if he'd only been being kind before? What if he'd claimed to love her as a way to ease dumping her? What if she'd made a colossal fool of herself and now was facing humiliation in front of his family?
Now, though, staring up into those chocolate-brown eyes, she saw everything she'd hoped to see and knew she'd done the right thing. She felt the almost electrical charge of warmth skittering through her from his hands directly down to her bones. He loved her.
So, keeping her voice as steady as she could, she took the plunge and said simply, "I came to marry you."
"I don't recall asking," he said, but a shimmer of light in his dark eyes gave her the courage to keep going.
"No, you didn't," she said, lifting both hands to lay her palms on his chest. His heartbeat thundered, and she felt her own quickening to beat in time. "Because you're a hardheaded man."
"I want to do right by you."
"Then marry me."
A muscle in his jaw twitched, then his features cleared and darkened again in an instant. "Are you—"
She had to think about that for a minute, then realized exactly what he was asking. "I don't know," she said, knowing that this was definitely the time for honesty. "But this isn't about a baby. This is about us."
"Yeah, it is."
"Good. We agree."
He shook his head, his gaze moving over her face like a warm caress. "I'm damn glad to see you, princess," he admitted, then added, "In fact, I was just trying to call your father's house to tell you I was going to come back to collect you."
"You were?"
"Oh, yeah." He reached up and cupped her cheek in his palm. "You're too deep inside me, Lisa. You're a part of me. I can't lose you."
She sucked in a gulp of air and blew it out again in a rush. "You won't lose me. I love you."
THE MARINE & THE DEBUTANTE Page 11
