For a second she was frozen, and he thought she might push him away. In his madness one coherent thought formed. If she didn’t want him, he had to let her go. He had to. He—
Then her arms were around his neck and she was surging into him, the soft curves of her body fusing to the hard planes of his.
“Michael...”
Hearing her say his name like that, her voice weak and dazed and helpless with longing, made his heart slam against his chest. He slid a hand to her nape to trap her against him. When her back arched, a rush of possessiveness hardened every muscle in his body.
He’d never craved a woman’s surrender before, but his body demanded Jenna’s. Feeling her pliant and trembling in his arms made him half wild.
Her lips parted and he was inside, everywhere, wanting everything at once. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She was hot and silken, sharp and sweet, and he would never, ever get enough. He backed her up against the counter and pushed his thigh between hers, and when she clutched at his shoulders and moaned against his mouth he almost lost his mind.
The universe shifted. Jenna was his center of gravity now, the pull of her more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. Falling into her was like falling into a star, the heat so intense he was consumed in the blink of an eye.
Jenna was drowning. She was drowning, and all she could do was hold onto Michael like her last hope of salvation, when he was the one who’d pulled her under.
Nothing had ever been like this. Nothing.
His body was so hard, so hot, so strong. She craved that hardness, yearned for it.
She yearned for him.
She should have had some defense against this. But it wasn’t a kiss as much as an explosion, and she never had a chance. His mouth burned through her, branding her, and she knew the mark of it would be on her for the rest of her life.
When he finally broke the kiss she twisted out of his grasp and stumbled away, gasping for breath.
This was it. Her one chance to return to sanity. After a moment she turned to face him, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen, and when he reached for her she backed away further, holding out a hand.
“No,” she said, her chest heaving as she fought for breath. “You know we can’t do this.”
“Yes, we can.” His voice was raw with the need that had overtaken them both. He took a step towards her.
“You have to stop. If you kiss me again, we’ll...we’ll lose control.”
“I hope so.”
“No. No. You know this can’t go anywhere. I’m leaving in six weeks.”
That pulled him up short. “I know you’re leaving.”
She bit her lip, and his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I can’t help it.” He came towards her again and she darted away, putting the kitchen table between them.
“Why am I the voice of reason here? You’re the damn scientist!”
“I don’t have any reason where you’re concerned.” The leashed tension in him was like a vibration in the air. “All I know is that I want you.”
The naked hunger in his voice made her shiver.
She closed her eyes. “I want you, too,” she said in a low voice. “I do, but—” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “If I were staying then maybe we could see where this is going. But I’m not staying.” She looked up again, letting him see the truth in her eyes.
They stayed like that for a long minute.
“We could be together while you’re here,” he said finally.
She shook her head. “Think about Claire,” she said gently. “You know she’d get her hopes up for something more between us.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “We don’t have to tell her. We could—”
“Michael, that’s not who you are. Do you really want to have some secret affair you can’t tell your daughter about?”
He laughed shortly. “No, you’re right. That’s not what I want.”
He held her eyes for a moment. She looked back at him, her lips still tender from his kiss. She remembered his hands gripping her shoulders, hard enough to bruise, and a dizzying wave of lust swept through her.
But it wasn’t just lust. She liked Michael—liked him a lot. She enjoyed talking with him, enjoyed spending time with him.
She admired him, too. She remembered what he’d done at the clinic today, the way he’d handled a dangerous situation without an ounce of hesitation. She could picture him like that in surgery. He would face down a damaged heart like he’d faced down that addict, with cool confidence and absolute determination.
She’d gotten mad at Allison for saying none of the other men she’d dated had been grownups, but she knew in her heart it was the truth. They had all been boys. Michael was a man.
A flicker of panic stirred inside her.
After a minute he spoke again. “Look, Jenna. I won’t deny I’m disappointed, but...hell, you’re probably making the right decision. It’s not like I’m a great gamble when it comes to relationships. And if we don’t go down that road, maybe we can stay friends.”
“I want that,” she said quickly. “Oh, Michael, I want that so much. I like you, and I like Claire, and I want to keep you both in my life.” She took a deep breath. “I have a bad track record too, when it comes to relationships. This way will be better. You’ll see.”
He smiled reluctantly. “I’m not sure I’m sold. But if friendship is what you’re willing to give me, then I’ll take it.”
Relief swept through her. “Okay. Good.” She took a deep breath. “So...what now? Can we still...we were going to...the three of us.” She realized she wasn’t making sense and tried again. “Maybe we could get together on Tuesday night? For dinner and music appreciation,” she reminded him. She wanted to get them back on their old footing as quickly as possible.
After a moment he nodded. “I’m in charge of the food, right?”
His voice was almost normal again, and she felt herself relaxing. “Why don’t you fill a picnic basket and bring it over? We can eat outside, on the patio.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He glanced at the clock on her wall. “I should probably be heading home. I’m sure Claire’s waiting up to find out how the apology went.”
She laughed a little shakily. “Considering I’ve completely forgotten what I was mad at you for, I think you can call it a success.”
That made him smile. “So coming over here wasn’t a total loss.”
She shook her head. “No.”
She went with him to the door. He put his hand on the knob and paused, looking at her. Something in his eyes made her take a quick step back.
“Are you sure about this, Jenna?”
“I’m sure,” she said quickly. And even though her heart was pounding, she knew she was making the right decision.
The regret she felt watching him go only confirmed it.
If she missed him this much after one kiss, how much worse would it be if they actually made love?
She had no intention of finding out.
***
It rained on Tuesday, so they ended up having a picnic on Jenna’s living room floor. She put down a red and white checked cloth over her rug, and the meal was lit by candles stuck in empty wine bottles, wax dripping leisurely down their pot-bellied sides.
It was the first time he’d been with her since the kiss, and things felt a little awkward at first. But Claire’s presence helped, and soon the three of them were talking and laughing—and, of course, eating.
Michael had made fried chicken, baked beans, and corn on the cob. He’d stripped the silk away from each ear and then roasted them in their husks. The corn was sweet and crisp and they ate a dozen ears between them, creating an enormous pile of husks and cobs in the middle of the picnic blanket.
Watching Jenna lick melted butter off her fingers, he felt the quick stab of lust she always inspired in him. But after a couple of days away from her he’d regained some semblanc
e of self-control.
She’d gone out somewhere last night, and he’d resisted the urge to wait up until she was back. He and Claire watched a DVD together and went to bed. When he woke up this morning, he felt master of himself again.
He knew he wouldn’t stop wanting Jenna. But he also knew he couldn’t ask her to change her plans, to change who she was, on the off chance that a relationship between them could actually work.
And given how different they were, the odds of that were pretty slim.
After the turmoil of his childhood, he’d structured his life around stability and predictability. He was a workaholic. He had a few good friends, but spent most of his down time at home. He’d created a life that worked for him, but he knew it would never work for someone like Jenna.
She was passionate, outgoing, exciting. She craved variety and change. And while he didn’t share her need to roam or her love of city life, the truth was, he admired her adventurous spirit—even though it would take her away from him in all too short a time.
She’d made the right decision about the two of them.
She might have been right about something else, too. He looked at Claire, heaping her plate with chicken and baked beans, and thought again about what Jenna had said.
Should he ask Claire to come live with him?
He wished the answer to that question was as clear to him as it obviously was to Jenna.
If Claire moved here, she’d be leaving behind her friends, her family, her school. She’d be uprooted from the structured and stable environment he’d always wanted for her.
And he was afraid a life with him would be a poor exchange for what she’d be giving up.
He shook his head as he loaded up his own plate. He didn’t have to decide tonight. He could put off thinking about it a little longer and just enjoy the evening.
Jenna talked about the teaching she was doing at her friend’s summer camp, and how much she loved it. Remembering the first night the three of them had spent together, with the Tibetan bell and Christmas carols in July, he could imagine how fun and inspiring her classes were. Jenna’s enthusiasm was infectious and she had a knack for bringing out the best in people. He was glad to hear that along with the movie work she’d be doing in L.A., she was also planning to teach a few hours a week through an inner city arts program.
Claire asked a question about Jenna’s family, and she mentioned that her future brother-in-law was Rick Hunter, the man who’d designed Claire’s favorite video game. They talked about video games for a while, and then about violence in the media, and whether exposure to it made society more violent. Claire and Jenna both had strong opinions about that, and he let them carry the discussion.
He already knew that Jenna was an intelligent and original thinker, but he was surprised to find that his daughter was, too. He found himself asking questions just to hear her talk.
There was blues playing in the background, since Jenna and Claire had informed him that a rock-and-roll education should start there, but it wasn’t until after dinner that they got serious about music. They sat him down on the couch and played him songs by dozens of different artists. While the music played, they talked about the history of the blues, its roots in the musical traditions of Africa and America.
It was captivating to listen to them. Claire and Jenna fed off each other’s energy, and even though it was obvious that Jenna was the real expert, he was surprised at how much Claire knew, too.
Nothing human is alien to me. That’s what Jenna had said, and he remembered it now. He might not express it the way they did, but he was as passionate about medicine as they were about music. Even if he didn’t quite “get” the whole blues thing, he could definitely get the enthusiasm.
At the end of the evening Jenna took out her guitar and started to play. She sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket while Michael and Claire leaned back against the couch.
In the candlelight, her hair was coal black. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch it. He’d stroked her hair that night on his porch swing, and he knew how soft it was.
He knew how soft her skin was, too. And the way her body felt pressed against his.
He might never learn to be a music fan, but he sure was a Jenna Landry fan. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t imagine a sweeter, sexier sound than her voice. She held her guitar the way a great surgeon holds a scalpel—like an extension of her body.
He loved listening to her, loved watching her play, but he knew he wasn’t feeling the music the way she and Claire hoped he would. He liked it, but he didn’t love it...and he definitely didn’t understand the emotion of it the way they obviously did.
She held the last note of the song until it faded away. Then she laid her palm softly across the guitar strings, stilling their vibration.
“Well?” she asked, laying down the instrument and leaning forward with a smile. He was spellbound, by her if not the music, and it was a moment before he could speak.
“Well, what?” he asked finally.
“Have we made a blues fan out of you?”
He hesitated.
“Not yet? Don’t worry, you haven’t hurt our feelings. We’ll just have to keep trying, that’s all.”
“He needs to go to a show,” Claire said, and Jenna nodded.
“There’s no substitute for seeing a real blues artist perform. Albert Cray is in Des Moines Friday night, but he’s playing in a bar, so that’s out. I’ll check the online listings for shows in the area and—”
“No, you and Dad should go see Albert Cray,” Claire said quickly. “I could stay over with Mrs. Washington and Ellie. They said I could, any time.”
Jenna glanced at him. “I don’t think so,” she said cautiously. “Why don’t we look for a concert we can all see? I’m sure there’s—”
“No,” Claire said firmly. “Albert Cray is playing on Friday, and Dad has to see him. It’s perfect. I’ll stay the night at Mrs. Washington’s, with Ellie.” She jumped up. “I’ll go and ask her right now!”
Michael spoke up at that. “Claire, it’s almost nine-thirty. Don’t you think you should—”
“If their lights are off I won’t bug them, I promise. But I bet they’re still up.”
And before he could say anything else, she was out the front door.
Silence fell.
He imagined driving into the city with Jenna, just the two of them. Leaving the bar with her after the show, stepping out into the warm summer night, the stars shining above them. Walking with Jenna along the city streets, hearing her voice and her laughter, maybe brushing against her every so often.
Neither of them had said a word since Claire had charged out of the house. Jenna was frowning down at the floor, her lower lip caught in her teeth.
He forced himself to break the silence. “So, what do you think? Going to a concert would definitely further my musical education,” he added, wanting to put her at ease but also really hoping she’d say yes.
“It would be a great experience,” she said, looking up at him. “Albert Cray is an amazing musician.”
He felt a rush of satisfaction. “Then it’s settled.”
“I know it goes without saying, but...it wouldn’t be a date.”
“Understood.”
“Nothing even resembling a date.”
“Got it.”
“Just two friends going to a show.”
He leaned forward. “Jenna, you don’t have anything to worry about. Okay?”
She looked at him for a second and then smiled. “Okay.”
She picked up her guitar again and began to strum softly, the fingers of her left hand curving over the wood as she formed chords. “It really is a good idea. If Albert Cray doesn’t turn you into a blues fan, nothing will. Not that I’ll be upset if you don’t like him,” she added. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to like him. Claire and I have given it our best shot, but if you don’t like the blues, you don’t. I want to know your honest reaction, whatever
it is. Promise you’ll tell the truth, whether you love it or hate it or something in the middle?”
If he was out with Jenna, there was a chance he might not even notice the music. “I promise.”
Claire came back at that moment, brimming with satisfaction. “It’s all set,” she informed them. “I’m sleeping over Friday night with the Washingtons, so you can stay out as late as you want.”
Michael glanced at Jenna. As soon as their eyes met she looked away.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He’d just told her she had nothing to worry about, and looking at her now with that blush staining her cheeks, he wondered how the hell he was going to keep his hands off her Friday night.
With will power, damn it. Will power and self-control.
Two things that had never been in short supply before Jenna came into his life.
Chapter Seven
This isn’t a date, Jenna reminded herself as she stood in her bedroom, her hair still damp from the shower. Her clothing choices seemed loaded with meaning. Did she go with new jeans, the denim still stiff? Or did she go with an old, faded pair, soft as a bird’s wing from years of use—the ones that hugged her hips and made her legs look a mile long?
She reached for the old pair, telling herself they were more comfortable.
But if comfort were really the deciding factor, she’d go with a tee shirt instead of the red silk camisole top she was considering, cropped short enough to show off her tattoo and her belly ring.
There was no innocent reason to put on that top. Either she admitted she wanted to see the flash of desire in Michael’s eyes again, or she went for a tee shirt.
She thought about the kiss and felt a thrum of heat low in her belly. Then she thought about the warmth she felt when she was with him—a warmth that came from liking as much as lust.
That was the killer. If all she felt for Michael were desire, it wouldn’t matter so much. But her feelings were complex, all tangled up with affection and respect and care and concern, the kind of feelings that could touch her heart as much as her body. And since she planned to leave Iowa with her heart intact, she’d better make sure her body didn’t get the best of her.
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