by Renee Roszel
He was perceptive. The last person she wanted to be alone with in the woods was Lucas Brand. She’d maneuvered every which way not to be partnered with him, but as usual, she’d failed.
The Goodalls had been sweet, but they’d insisted that they were always partners, and Bertha had claimed she couldn’t possible make the piecrust without Bernie’s help. It was his grandmother’s recipe, and only he could make the darned stuff flaky enough. So Jess had been forced to make this trek into the woods with a man whose company she objected to with all her heart.
“Don’t you have a meeting or a phone call or Trekkie sex games or something?” she asked, sounding pitifully hopeful.
“Very funny.” He shook his head. “Actually, Sol and Fletch have been in the office for forty-eight hours straight. I told them to get some sleep and a bath. We have a conference call at six in the morning.”
“Well, then,” she suggested, “you go on back and get some sleep or a bath.”
He grinned down at her. “Why, has my after-shave soured on me?”
He’d come very close to the truth. Only his after-shave hadn’t soured, but it had certainly been bothersome. Every time he drew near, she got a heady whiff of him, and he smelted awfully good—hot, spicy and all male. Grimly, she fibbed, “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Then what’s your problem? Are you afraid I’ll attack you, or something?”
“Certainly not!” she blurted, disgusted that she sounded so frightened. “This is a stupid conversation. I need to sneak up and check on the kids. I’m afraid the black lace undies you bought for the girls have gone to Suzy’s head, and she’s dying to show hers off.” Jess wheeled around, forgetting that her stick was resting on her shoulder. She felt the stick knock hard against something, and twisted back, horrified. She saw Lucas put a protective hand over his eye. “Oh, my goodness,” she cried in a whisper. “I hit you!”
He was shaking his head, as though to try to clear his vision. “I noticed,” he grunted under his breath.
“How bad is it? Should we rush you to a hospital?” She was terrified that she might have destroyed his vision. “I’m so sorry.” She brushed away his hand and gently holding the lids apart, peered up into the injured eye. “I can’t see much,” she said. “It’s too dark. We’d better get to some light.”
She took his hand and began to drag him along. “I hope I didn’t scratch the cornea, but I hear they can do wonderful things with laser surgery these days. I’m sure—” Her voice broke, and she sucked in a shuddery breath.
An instant later, she was facing him. Somehow he’d turned her around and was looking down at her sternly, one eye nearly closed. “Look, Jess,” he began seriously, “I’m fine. I don’t think it hit my eye, just grazed the lid. I’ll probably be bruised tomorrow, but I’m not really hurt. So shut up.”
He held her by her upper arms and shook her slightly. She swallowed, a little less panicky. “Are you sure? I mean, I’d never forgive myself if I’d maimed you.”
He gave a short laugh. “You’re a strange case, Mrs. Glen. You don’t mind screwing me out of a hundred million dollars, but you go all to pieces when you think you’ve scratched me. Why is that? Don’t you know I’d endure one hell of a lot of physical pain for that kind of money?”
She stared up into his beguiling features. He didn’t seem angry or even irritated; just mildly curious about the workings of her mind. And there was something else there, too. It wasn’t so much in the way he looked at her or his words, but the fact that he was holding her arms—gently, and for no good reason anymore. Her gaze slid to the ground. “Do you mean for one hundred million dollars you’d allow yourself to be blinded?”
“No, of course not,” he jeered. “But you’re not even slightly remorseful about the business crisis your Mr. Niceguy thing is causing me, and yet a little poke in my eye has you in tears.”
“Don’t be crazy!” she objected, embarrassed, unhappily aware that she’d been near tears a minute ago. He must have seen the telltale glimmer in her eyes, reflected by the dratted moonlight.
He frowned at her for another minute, then half smiled. It was a cynical look. “Good,” he said flatly. “Let’s keep it that way. I don’t want anyone crying on my account.”
Jess sensed that there was a postscript to his remark, unspoken yet very clear. And I don’t intend to become close enough to anyone else to cry for them, either.
Jess knew it would be foolhardy to make any comment, but for some reason, she longed to ask him what had made him so cold and remote.
Before she had a chance to open her mouth and insert her foot, somebody screamed.
7
After the second scream, Jess realized that it was more like a squeal and was coming from a young girl.
“I think Annie changed her attitude about Moses’s tongue action,” Lucas said, heading in the direction of the noise.
“Oh, Lord,” Jess muttered uneasily. She only hoped the foreplay hadn’t gone too far. They’d never had this sort of difficulty on a retreat before.
“Okay,” Lucas was saying to someone Jess still couldn’t see when she caught up. “What’s all the shouting about?”
Moses and Annie were half hidden in a scattering of leaves, but at the the sound of Lucas’s voice, Annie bolted up, hurriedly zipping her new lilac parka. “I—I tripped,” she stuttered, supporting herself with a hand on her companion’s shoulder. “Moses was helping—me—er—up.…”
“I’d say he was helping something up,” Lucas said, tossing his stick aside. “Let me give you a hand, Mr. Booker.” Without waiting for the boy to reply, he took hold of his upper arm and hauled him to his feet.
“Hey!” Moses objected. “Don’t trip, man. I wasn’t raping the woman. We were just having some fun.”
“Yeah?” Lucas released the boy. “From that kind of fun comes babies. You want a baby?”
Moses shifted uneasily, and his face caught a shaft of bright moonlight. Jess could see his expression change from aggravated to troubled. “I don’t want no babies, man!”
Jess had taken Annie’s hand. The girl was mortified, whimpering, “Gee, Mrs. Glen, we wouldn’t have—wouldn’t have done—you know—the wild thing. I swear.”
Jess felt a rush of depression about the foolishness of teenagers, but tried to smile. “That’s how a lot of babies get started, Annie. Terribly, terribly unplanned.” She looked around. “Where’s your gunnysack?”
Annie sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I think it’s over there.”
“Lead the way.” Jess had a feeling Lucas wanted to talk to Moses alone. She was the one trained for such a task, but she sensed that Moses might respond better to a man, since he had no male role model in his family.
She cast Lucas a worried look over her shoulder, wondering what he would say. Deciding she’d better keep her ears open, she whispered to Annie, “You find that sack and join Jack, Suzy and Larry.” She could see the three of them huddled not far away. “You kids get on with the hunt. This delay may cost you the championship if you hang around doing nothing. I’ll get my stick and start beating the bushes.” She decided it was time to tell a real whopper. “I saw a couple of snipes running that way.” She pointed directly away from Moses and Lucas. “Get over there about ten yards or so, and keep your eyes peeled.”
Annie grabbed her sack and joined the other team members. As they disappeared into the shadow-shrouded woods, Jess stealthily made her way back to hide behind a beech tree. She prayed Lucas would be as good at man-to-man talks as he was at making money, but had her doubts.
“Okay, Moses,” Lucas was saying. “I know where you’re coming from. You’re feeling your hormones. It’s normal.”
The youth grunted, but made no comment.
“You’ve got to use your brains along with your…” There was a pause, and Jess chewed the inside of her cheek in nervous anticipation. After a second, Lucas continued, “Along with Mr. Prick, down there.”
“A l
ot you know, man. You’re old,” Moses groused. “And Annie’s a fine thing—hot to trot.”
“I don’t care if she’s a racehorse that’s been set on fire, you don’t have sex with her. Not this week, and not unprotected. There are diseases out there, man, that can cut your horny little life short. You get me?”
Silence reigned for so long, Jess had to venture a look. Moses’ expression was masked by darkness. Lucas’s face was visible, however, and he appeared serious, but not angry. His hand was on the boy’s shoulder. Jess was startled by the humanness of the action, and wondered if it was pretense, or if he really wanted to help Moses.
“But she—But Annie came on to me, man…” Moses carped, breaking into Jess’s musings.
“With a stud like you, it’ll happen again.” Lucas half grinned in understanding. “And when that day comes, have a condom in your wallet. Protect yourself and the girl.”
Moses frowned. “I ain’t got the bread for condoms.”
“Do you have the bread to feed a baby, or are you one of those jerks who screws ’em and leaves ’em?”
Moses met Lucas’s eyes. “My old man did that. Left my mom before I was born.”
“And he’s your idol?”
“He’s a badass.”
“You want to be like your dad?”
“Get off my back, man.”
“Answer my question,” Lucas prodded. “Do you want to be an ass to some other little boy someday?”
Moses made a pained face. “No. I want to be a car designer.”
“Good goal.” Lucas patted his shoulder. “Tell you what. Before you leave, I’ll give you some condoms. You use them when Mr. Prick goes into action, and you stay in school. One day, you just may be an automotive designer.”
Moses peered sideways at Lucas, his expression skeptical. “You’re gonna give me rubbers?”
“Don’t tell Mrs. Glen. I’m not sure it’s part of the program.”
Lucas smiled then—a warm, amused, open smile. Jess stared, dismayed at how her heart thrilled at the sight.
Moses chuckled suddenly, and shook his head as though incredulous. “You’re a cool dude, Mr. Niceguy.” He stuck out a hand. “And I thought you were a total dwebe.”
Lucas took the boy’s hand. “Even dwebes have their Mr. Prick days.”
Moses bent to pick up Lucas’s snipe stick. “Here. I guess I’ll go scope out the bushes for them furry little farts. Thanks for not beating my butt, man.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.”
Moses ambled off, dragging his sack through the fallen leaves as he went. Jess flattened herself against the tree, holding her breath. She didn’t want Moses or Lucas to know she’d been eavesdropping.
“How’d I do?” came a soft question from very nearby.
Jess jumped and spun to find Lucas lounging against the tree beside her, his expression amused.
She swallowed, ashamed that he’d caught her. “How did you know I was here?”
He shrugged his sinfully wide shoulders.
“I figured, with you being a mother-hen sort of woman, you’d be hovering nearby,” he explained. “Also, since you don’t like me, I knew you’d be ready to pounce the minute I made a wrong move.”
Her face grew warm with embarrassment. “Am I that transparent?
“You’re cellophane.” He paused, then added, “So, since you didn’t leap out of the bushes at me, I gather I did okay.”
She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I could have done without the ‘Mr. Prick’ comment, but other than that, you did okay.”
“I’m gratified. And the free condom offer?”
He was teasing her now. She decided two could play at this game. Defiantly she asked, “What do you want, a hand?” Drawing tense fists from her coat pockets, she unclenched them, and pressed her palms together slowly and deliberately, three times. “Happy now?”
“Why didn’t you want to come with me, tonight?”
Startled by his abrupt change of subject, she sputtered, “Why—I—never…”
“I heard you begging Reba to let you go with Howie. And I have a feeling it’s not because you have a raging crush on the man. My gut tells me it was because you’re afraid of me.”
“Well—your gut’s crazy!” she retorted in a voice too high-pitched to be believed.
“Why are you so afraid of me?” he coaxed, leaning closer.
She took a step away from him. “I—I’m not afraid, Mr. Brand,” she hedged, with rising panic. Angry that he could make her so defensive, she fell back, as she invariably did, on the unvarnished truth. No matter how hurtful it might be, she plunged on blindly. “If you must know, I’m not at ease around type As, like you. My father was one, my mother was one, my husband was one. I’m tired of being the loser in every situation. I don’t like to be manipulated, belittled, having to always be on guard. You aggressive I-have-to-be-the-winner-no-matter-who-I-step-on people make me feel—feel—mediocre—”
Her voice broke with the shame of having to admit her failing to a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word. She swallowed, hurrying on, “And—and anxious. That’s why I work with needy kids. That’s why I’m in a field that calls for gentleness, allows victories to be small—human ones. That’s why—”
She found herself swept into a bold embrace and felt Lucas’s strength surround her as his lips came down to taste her mouth. Neither the kiss, nor his touch were harsh or demanding as she might have expected them to be. He was tender and compelling, and she was suddenly, mindlessly, leaning against him, relishing the pressure of his hands, the sexy maleness of his hard frame, the unexpected sweetness of his lips.
Somehow she had the impression he wasn’t so much interested in conquering her as comforting her—an odd feeling to have, considering the type of man he was. She hadn’t imagined he had a comforting bone in his body, but her flustered tirade seemed to have struck some obscure, gentle chord deep inside the man. She sensed that even Lucas was startled by his desire to console, for his lips caressed hers, featherlike, charmingly hesitant.
Well aware that she would be foolish to allow this to go on, she tried to put an end to their unanticipated intimacy, but her senses betrayed her. The power and scent of him was disarming. As his mouth shifted seductively over hers, a small sound of wonder escaped her throat. His lips, though potent and clever, were surprisingly sensitive as they moved, and she responded by relaxing, reciprocating in kind.
There was breathless fascination in the experience that drew her into a pleasantly unguarded state, an odd euphoria. She’d heard the term “rapture of the deep” and wondered if she might be experiencing “rapture of the kiss.” Not a bad way to go, she decided, relishing this new, unforeseen facet of what a kiss could do. Without any thought for the consequences, she clutched his broad torso and held fast, her lips parting freely, craving more.
She knew a wild surge of pleasure as his mouth opened in answer to her silent urging, and his tongue began a languid quest, meeting the slick smoothness of her teeth. While he penetrated deeper, exploring the moist recesses of her mouth, she became aware of a new hunger—a hunger that was hot, and foretold of imminent, total surrender.
Sheer terror welled up inside her at the realization. No! her mind cried. Not this man! Not another type A. Will you never learn, Jess? He’ll smother you, take away the person you are, try to mold you into his image of what you should be. No! Run, you demented, weak, crazy woman!
She began to tremble in his arms, tried to protest, but her voice wouldn’t come, wouldn’t aid in her escape. His hands were at her waist, drawing her closer to him, more intimately against his exhilarating hardness. She could feel his arousal, and knew that he was no mere machine. He was a complete, fully functioning man—with all the appropriate human needs and desires.
Feeling helpless, she whimpered forlornly, and pushed as fiercely as her flagging strength would allow. Surprisingly, she found herself released, free to run. Dazed by the depth of her reaction to his
kiss, she stumbled away until she felt the blessed support of the tree trunk. Propped against its solidness, she swept a hand through her hair, pointedly avoiding his eyes. “I—That was uncalled-for,” she croaked.
There was no sound, no apology, and she peeked up to judge his expression. His eyes were hooded, his lips pursed. She could read nothing of his thoughts.
“I—I said,” she began again, then had to clear her passion-swollen throat. “I said that was uncalled-for.”
He turned away. “I heard you.”
As he picked up the stick he’d dropped earlier, she demanded, “Is that all? No apology? No explanation? Just ‘I heard you’?”
He shifted to look down at her. “You were getting hysterical giving that type A speech. I didn’t want to slap you, so I kissed you to calm you down.”
She didn’t know what she’d wanted him to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that. Her cheeks fiery, she snapped, “Oh? Do your kisses usually send women into a coma?”
He considered her in the darkness. Along with the biting, tart smell of dead leaves and the cool hint of pine, she detected his scent on the breeze—or was it on her, now? Wincing, she tried not to breathe, or at least not to be so aware of his unique scent. It was too stimulating, too reminiscent of her near surrender moments ago.
“I’m sorry about your parents and your husband, Jess,” he said at last. “I’m sorry I remind you of them. I’m also sorry I kissed you. I suppose I’ve been working too much, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Oh?” she blurted, irritated that he was casting off the kiss so casually. A mental aberration, nothing more! How gallant! “Well, don’t worry, Mr. Brand. It’s totally forgotten.” She’d told several lies tonight, but none as big as that one. Swooping down to grab up her fallen stick, she glared at her wrist, provoked that she couldn’t see her watch, and unsure why that bothered her so.
