by Renee Roszel
Seven o’clock rolled around, and Jess was emotionally torn about sharing anything so intimate as a ten-foot-long hay wagon with Lucas—rolling along under a pale gold lovers’ moon. Would he talk to her? Maybe even smile?
Soon enough, she discovered she needn’t have worried. Mamie had made it her duty to station Lucas at the front and Jess at the back, while she took a post in the middle. That way, her mother explained, they could all keep a sharper eye on any “potentially immoral” activities that might get started beneath the blankets.
Jess and Lucas didn’t speak two words to each other, or share so much as a glance, all the way to the site of the bonfire and weenie roast. Around nine, the scent of burned weenies redolent in the air, Jess realized her mother was missing. “Oh, no,” she moaned, glancing frantically around. Mamie had insisted on wearing a three-piece tweed suit and low-heeled pumps—her idea of casual clothing. If she got lost in the woods, she’d freeze before morning.
Catching Bertha Kornblum by a coat sleeve, she whispered, “Mother’s disappeared. I’m going to look around. She gets disoriented so quickly.”
Bertha nodded. “Don’t go far. Even with the moon, the woods are pretty black.”
Nodding, Jess caught a glimpse of Lucas. He was at the makeshift condiment table—a blanket spread over the back of a hay wagon—smiling and talking with Jack and Annie. Though Lucas looked tired, he appeared to be relaxed and was clearly enjoying himself. While Jess watched, the dog, Moron, scampered up, and stole a weenie out of Jack’s bun. Jess heard Lucas’s deep laughter and felt strangely desolate. All she craved was a simple smile from the man. Why, she wondered, must she care? Remembering she needed to locate her mother, she headed into the woods. “Mother?” she called softly, not wanting to alert the others until it became absolutely necessary. “Mother? Where are you?”
Jess reached a stream, and was amazed to recognize the spot. It was near that quaint white cottage. She peered around. Yes, there was the darned branch that had scraped her off Snowflake the other day. Instinctively, she headed for the natural bridge formed by a fallen tree that spanned the creek.
“Mother?” she called again, stepping onto the trunk. “For heaven’s sake, this is no time to go wandering off.” A voice inside her suggested that maybe she should heed her own advice, but she didn’t have time to ponder the wisdom of it. Something ahead of her moved. She squinted and recognized it as an animal of some kind—with a long, white—“Oh, my Lord,” she breathed. A skunk.
She pivoted on the log to backtrack, and was horrifed to see another skunk on the far end of the log, with several smaller ones trailing behind. Had she stumbled into some sort of skunk parade? A polecat family on an outing?
The absurd circumstance that had put her in the middle of a log bridge between a touchy-looking mother skunk and her offspring on one end, and perhaps, dear old Dad on the other, wasn’t important right now. What was important was—she was trapped!
She ran through her list of options quickly. It was short—get squirted by an irate skunk, or get wet. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the stream, clamping her jaws to stifle a cry at the icy chill of the water. Remaining as still as she could, she stood statuelike, afraid to breathe, as the mother and her offspring crept across the log at eye level.
Once they’d disappeared into the blackness, she sucked in a long-overdue breath and hugged herself to ward off the violent tremors that flooded her body.
“Let me guess,” came a deep, amused voice. “You’re going down with the ship?”
Lucas stood on the bank, his lanky legs braced wide, his arms folded across his chest, a crooked grin on those firm, sensual lips. He exuded that maddening sexual magnetism she knew so well, and had fought so hard. She stared longingly at him, thinking maybe a dip in the freezing water was worth seeing him smile again. A violent shiver brought her back to her situation, and she retorted through chattering teeth, “I love f-funny men. Why don’t you g-go look for one!”
“You’re catching your death.” He leaned forward, extending a hand. “Grab hold.”
Since the other bank was steep, she had no choice but to move toward him, but she ignored his offer. “N-no thanks.” Even his casual helping hand would be hard to bear, now that she knew what those hands could do
He cursed, grasping her by the upper arm and hauling her out. “At the rate you’re moving, you’ll freeze solid,” he said, hoisting her into his arms. “You’ll have to get out of those things.”
“I can’t g-go back.” she objected weakly. “Mother’s lost.”
“No, she’s not. She was out—’using the facilities’—to put it in her delicate terms.”
Jess relaxed as much as her quivering muscles would allow. “Thank heaven.” Looking around, she discovered they weren’t headed toward the campfire, but were crossing the log bridge. “Wh-where are we going?” she asked, her teeth making loud, clacking noises.
“The cottage.” He sounded reluctant, as though he had no desire to take her there. “You can get out of those wet things.”
Just as Lucas stepped off the log and onto the bank, there was the sound of barking, and Moron rushed past and disappeared into the woods. “Damn dog’s going to be pleasant company on the trip back,” Lucas mused with a resigned shake of his head.
She eyed him speculatively. “You saw the skunks, then?”
He met her gaze. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t try to help me?”
“I left my tranquillizer gun at the office,” he drawled, a faint smile quirking his lips. “Anything I’d have done would have set them off.”
She realized he was probably right and dropped the indignant tone. “Moron’ll get lost,” she murmured. “We’re pretty far from the house.”
“I doubt it,” Lucas said with a mordant chuckle. “The worse he smells, the faster he finds the house. It’s one of Murphy’s newer laws.” They reached the clearing and he stepped across the picket fence.
“You don’t sound particularly unhappy about it,” she commented softly. “You’ve changed, Lucas.”
He set her on the cottage porch and reaching up over the door, fished for a key. “I’m just too tired to care,” he muttered, as he inserted it in the lock. The scarred portal creaked as it swung open. Lucas stepped back to allow her to precede him. “Take off those wet things. I’ll get a fire going.”
He crossed the room to the hearth, opened a rough chest, and lifted some cut wood from it. He’d placed several logs in the hearth before turning to peer at her. She was still shrinking near the door. “Get those things off,” he repeated more sternly.
She swallowed hard. “Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate? I mean, you being right here and all.”
A dark brow lifted sardonically. “I’ve seen you naked,” he reminded harshly. “You made sure of it. Remember?”
She floundered before the intensity of his look. “I—Well that was—”
“I know what it was,” he cut in, and went back to readying the fire. “And since we’re past having any sexual interest in each other, you should have no problem shedding wet clothes in front of me.”
She hestitated. “Of—of course,” she answered feebly, and scurried across the room. She wrapped the quilt from the bed around her and skinned out of her sopping clothes. Lucas didn’t turn in her direction as he added pieces of kindling to the fire, gradually coaxing it into a healthy blaze.
She perched on the bed, pulling her legs up to hug her knees beneath the quilt. Unable to help herself, she watched his profile. His thick black hair, lit by the flickering firelight, gleamed a rich mahogany. His square jaw was tense, and something like pain was etched into the grave lines of his face.
She felt suddenly restless, and got up. Remembering her discarded clothes, she swept the quilt about her, taking the clammy things to the fireplace to drape them from the stone mantel. The two photographs sitting there drew her attention, and she picked them up to move them into a better light.
Her mouth dropped open in mute surprise. “Why, Lucas.” Holding up the boy’s picture, she said, “This is you, isn’t it?”
He’d stopped stoking the fire, and was just sitting there beside her, watching, apparently dreading the question. A muscle worked in his jaw, as he nodded. “In another life.”
She frowned at his sad response, holding out the photo of the woman. “Who’s this?”
Clearly impatient, he grabbed the pictures and stood to replace them. “I’ll go tell your mother to gather some dry clothes when the hayride’s over. Then I’ll—” He dragged a hand through his hair. There was frustration in his gruff voice—the same frustration that had settled in the depths of his eyes. Unexpectedly, he turned away and strode toward the door. “Somebody will bring you your clothes and get you home.” Before she could object or even register that he was leaving her there, alone, he was gone. The only sound was the echo of the slamming door.
Jess tried to rest as she waited, but couldn’t. She wandered restlessly about the cottage, haunted by the memory of Lucas’s troubled face. She was forced to finally admit to herself that she cared about Lucas. Since it was clear he didn’t plan to tell her about his past, she felt compelled to search through the cabin’s meager contents. She desperately needed to know everything she could about him.
As she rummaged in drawers and cabinets, she carried with her the two framed pictures. She didn’t find much. Dishes, pots and pans, an old metal jewel box with a few trinkets inside. The thing that drew her interest in the box was a folded, hand-drawn Valentine inscribed with the childishly scrawled message, “I love you, Grandma Jane.” The signature had read, simply, “Lucas.”
There was also a faded snapshot of a man and woman. The man bore a striking resemblance to Lucas. Jess guessed that these were his parents, in happier times, before addiction to drugs had ruined their lives.
From these skimpy keepsakes, she gleaned a great deal about how Lucas had become the man he was. It seemed he’d lost everyone he’d ever loved, one way or another. As a small child, he must have felt utterly abandoned, first by his parents’ desertion, then by his grandmother’s death.
He’d mentioned he’d been married once. Jess had a feeling his marriage had come at a time when he was beginning to heal, to reach out. When it ended, he’d simply closed himself off entirely. A tear trailed down her cheek. She brushed it away, closed the box and replaced it in the dresser beside the bed.
So, this was the reason Lucas Brand tried so not to care for people. He feared abandonment so much, he’d shut himself off from emotional connections. He made sure he discarded relationships before they could discard him. That’s why the Mary Anne Browns of the world waited in vain for his call. He’d promised himself never to put his heart in jeopardy again. She couldn’t really blame him. People defended themselves from hurt in many different ways. Lucas had obviously chosen to place his trust and his passions in the logical, unemotional world of computers.
And this cottage had become a shrine of sorts, a cherished monument to what he’d called “another life”—a life in which he’d felt loved and secure, one that his young, broken heart had convinced him could never be his again.
A footstep on the porch made her stiffen. Then she realized it was someone returning with her clothes. When the door opened, she stared in astonishment and her breath caught in her chest. Lucas stood there.
Framed in the doorway, an overnight bag clenched in his hand, he was painfully arresting, clad in close-fitting jeans and a bulky white turtleneck that accentuated the width of his shoulders. Firelight and shadow played on his solemn face, giving it a bold and primitive look. Silently, he entered the cottage and closed the door behind him.
She held herself very still, the familiar heat of desire washing over her against her will. “Lucas,” she breathed. “I thought—What are you doing here?”
He dropped the bag on a chair, quickly closed the distance between them and crushed her in the strong warmth of his arms. “Damn me to hell if I know why,” he growled, his tone hoarse with self-reproach. “I may be out of your system, Jess. But, you’re not out of mine.” Lifting her, he settled her on the bed, then hovered inches above her, imprisoning her between his arms and the looming promise of his body. “Give me tonight,” he coaxed roughly, his eyes searching hers with such erotic purpose that her heart turned over in response.
Her thoughts in a jumble, she swept her gaze over his face, down his lean cheeks to the sharp, chiseled lines of his tensed jaw, then back to his lips—those wonderful, tormenting lips that could thrill her to mindless distraction. There was nothing she wanted more in life than to give herself to him—now and all the rest of her days. But having discovered his fear, his reason for rejecting love, she was terrified to let herself say yes. She didn’t want to be just another Mary Anne Brown to him. She loved him. She knew it now, and that knowledge filled her with trembling dread.
“Lucas…” she tried, but her voice failed her. Frantically, she turned away, struggling to maintain a shred of composure. “You have a right, I suppose, since I—I started this thing.” He didn’t answer, forcing her to look into his blazing eyes.
“Don’t talk like a failure. You don’t owe me a thing,” he ground out. “Don’t give yourself to me as a sleazy consolation prize. You’re an intelligent, accomplished woman, Jess. Either you want me, or you don’t.” His dark, compelling eyes raked her face, searching for truth. “Just tell me what you want. It’s as simple as that.”
Oh, if it were only that simple, Lucas! her mind cried. But her foolish willful arms paid no heed as they curled about his neck and drew him down to her.
12
His kisses were blissfully bruising and she gave herself freely to his passions, knowing that what they shared tonight would have to last her for the rest of her life. Tomorrow was the final day of the retreat. After the barn dance and closing ceremony, the kids and volunteers would vacate Lucas Brand’s grounds—and his life.
It was hard to imagine that only a scant two weeks ago she’d despised this man, thinking him cold, like her father and her husband. But now she knew that beneath the aloof facade he was a feeling human being, a truly nice guy—but a man afraid to be vulnerable.
Jess had only a few short hours to indulge in the joys of his hidden, passionate side. The tender hunger of his kisses shattered her, a heady punishment for her foolishness in beginning this crazy affair. But she couldn’t feel any regret while his tongue was sending shivers of desire through her, and the hot exploration of his hands made her body tremble, and her limbs cling to him desperately.
His lips trailed down, deliriously teasing, and she moaned in anticipation. With each tormenting kiss, he paused to whisper risqué plans for every inch of her body, and she grew weak with need. Big hands captured her hips and his mouth found its destination between her thighs. His deep kiss sent her reeling, and she cried out, squeezing him to her with trembling legs, squirming under his ministrations, her breathing coming in high-pitched gasps.
His touch was inspired, its raw sensuality carrying her to ever-greater heights, until at last, she careened wildly over the edge into a soul-stirring climax. She writhed and quivered, unable to control her cries of pleasure.
While the afterglow seeped through her veins, a deep sense of peace entered her. She sighed languorously, and caressed the thick hair at his temples. “Come up here, Lucas,” she demanded, her voice throaty and breathless. “I want to feel you inside me.”
His wily tongue gave her one last, bawdy tribute. She arched u
p, her blood surging with the thrill of renewed arousal. When he slid forward to cover her body with his, she held him tightly, kissing the crook of his neck, his jaw, his lean cheek, until at last their lips met, his descending on hers with ravenous longing.
The kiss sent delicious sensations flowing like warm honey throughout her body. They clung to each other, their mouths communicating a profound, wordless message. The encounter was extraordinary, suffused with something almost sacred, beautifully sensual, yet reverent. It was as though their souls had become mystically blended, and now were joined—forever.
Lucas must have felt it, too. Suddenly, he lifted slightly away, and stared into her face, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. His features grew dark and troubled.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice frail and love-thickened. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
A bleakness washed across his features, and his eyes glistened. “God, Jess…I…” He broke off, swallowing hard.
“Lucas?” she asked, fearful.
In a voice rough with desire, he muttered, “Damn, I’m sorry,” and slid off, leaving her feeling bereft. He stood, wiping a shaky hand through his hair. “Get dressed,” he commanded gruffly. “I’ll wait outside.”
Her body ached desperately for the fulfillment he’d withdrawn. She pleaded, “Lucas, what did I do…?”
“Nothing,” he barked, scowling. “Forget it. Forget me.” Spinning around, he stomped off. “Get dressed,” he demanded, again, his tone dismal.
Jess was surprised she was able to push herself up, she felt so unsteady and helpless. The world tilted around her, and she wasn’t sure if she was awake or if this was some dreadful nightmare she couldn’t manage to shake off. “Lucas, why?” she cried, covering her face with her trembling hands.
