by Renee Roszel
Lucy had long ago outgrown her fear of such atmospheric upheavals, but that didn’t mean she’d learned to sleep through them. Besides, tonight she had other upheavals on her mind. The cause of one was not far away, his back to her, apparently peacefully sleeping.
That wasn’t fair. How could he sleep so soundly with all this racket going on? She loudly cleared her throat, but the attempt to wake him was covered by a whip crack of thunder. She frowned at herself. How did she think one little throat clearing would bring him awake if he could sleep through this clamor? It was like trying to get someone to taste one shred of parsley in a dish riddled with garlic. Impossible.
Well, Lucy, if you really want his attention, you’re going to have to be bold! she told herself. Touch him!
She reached out, but saw her hand go death white in another flash of lightning. The starkness of the vision, of her hand halfway to his broad back, stilled her. What was she doing? What did she need to discuss with Jack that was so urgent she planned to wake him from what had to be a sound sleep? She had no answer, she only knew she needed to talk to him. Now.
Again, she moved her hand toward him, finally testing the warm hardness of his shoulder with one finger. She pressed, but couldn’t move him at all. She sucked in a nervous breath as thunder growled a hair-raising warning. Emboldened by her first tentative effort, she ignored the heavenly omen. It was only weather, not the dictates of some avenging god of sound sleepers.
This time, she palmed his shoulder and shook. He moved with her efforts, but only slightly.
Silence.
She exhaled, dejected. Did the man go into a coma at night? She touched him again, bent on shoving him off the bed if she had to.
“I’m awake, Luce,” he murmured, his voice guarded.
At first, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him respond, the quiet comment coming on the heels of another snarl of thunder. But when she became aware that the sound was actually human, she instinctively jerked her hand away. Now what? She chewed the inside of her cheek, unsure of what to say.
He shifted to his back to face her. His features were indistinct in the darkness. She wished for a lightning strike so that she could see if he was perturbed to be awakened. Quickly she took back the wish. She didn’t need extra stress.
“Luce?” he coaxed. “It’s not the storm, is it? You’re not frightened?”
She smiled, half out of nervousness, half out of thankfulness. There was no temper in his voice. Lightning flashed, and his features appeared for the smallest part of a second, leaving the impression of strong planes, unsmiling masculine lips and deep set, heavily lashed eyes. Wary eyes, not the least drowsy from sleep. She wondered if he had been lying there awake, too.
For some reason, that knowledge gave her strength to speak. “Jack?” she asked, almost too softly to hear.
“Yes?”
“Do you think my hips are too big?”
A crash of thunder filled the air with sound, so Lucy didn’t know if he’d answered with a definite yes or no. Or if he’d responded at all. She also wasn’t sure why she’d asked such an asinine question—especially in the middle of the night.
“Is this a trick question?” he finally said, and Lucy had a feeling a vague smile rode his lips.
“Tell me the truth, Jack,” she said. “I need to know.”
“What brought this up—now?”
Apprehension twisting her insides, she turned to better face him. “A couple of days ago, you implied I needed to spend more time on the stair-stepper machine, and I just thought, maybe...”
There was another long pause while Lucy’s chest ached from holding her breath. After a dizzying eternity, she heard a chuckle. “Luce, I was just kidding you. What I said had nothing to do with what I think about your hips.”
“But—but do you think they’re too big?” She didn’t know why she was forcing the issue. “You made the remark, so it must have been floating around in your subconscious.”
“Lucy.” He reached out, touching her hand, then seeming to think better of it, he drew away. “I think your hips are perfect—ly adequate.”
He cleared his throat, and she felt a twinge of suspicion that he wasn’t being totally truthful with her. Groaning, she turned away. “Oh, never mind. I know I’m shaped like a pear. It’s not your fault.”
“Lucy, why do you care what I think?”
She squeezed her eyes tight. He was getting too close to her “upheaval” area. She shook her head, deciding a half-truth was the best option. “I care about your opinion. That’s all.”
Thunder came crashing down on them like the felling of a huge tree, and Lucy was grateful for the barrier of sound. She needed barriers right now. Any kind. A bundling board would be good. Her emotions were messing with her mind, and she didn’t know what to do—or what she might do.
“I certainly don’t have the hips of a high-fashion model,” she blurted, then bit her tongue. Where had that come from?
“I suppose you don’t,” he replied, sounding careful. But instead of being upset, she felt drawn to him for his truthfulness. “Honestly, Luce—”
The phone jangled in the darkness, making Lucy jump. She knew instinctively who was calling and she vaulted to her knees. “Doesn’t that woman have anything else to do?” she cried, astounded by the depth of irritation she felt.
Jack was reaching for the phone when she spoke. He lifted the receiver, but put a hand over it so the person on the other end couldn’t hear. “Why, Luce,” he said with soft reproach, “what’s come over you?”
She allowed her head to loll back so that she could eye the ceiling. “Do you want me to go into the bathroom so you can be alone?” she whispered. “I can take a book.”
“Good idea.” Removing his hand from the receiver, he spoke into it. That smoky, sexy growl he reserved for his haute couture lover made the hackles on her neck rise. Lord, how she was starting to hate it when he talked like that. Whispering words of love in a language she didn’t understand. And...her brain insisted on adding, to a woman who isn’t you.
As Lucy slid from the bed, she gritted her teeth, driving that wayward thought from her mind. It was of no interest to her if Jack thought Desiree’s bony backside was without rival in the entire cosmos.
In a melancholy mood, Lucy strolled in the hotel garden, trying to enjoy the clear night. A thousand stars were out and the moon was new. Everything smelled fresh and clean. A perfect night for lovers. She cringed at her turn of mind.
All that day she had been unaccountably depressed. Jack had clearly sensed her gloom because after long hours in the hotel room dealing with his business concerns, he’d insisted on taking her out to dinner. They dressed up and went to a local restaurant noted for its rack of lamb. Lucy had never eaten the dish before and feared that if she ever did again, she would recall this evening with Jack too fondly for her own good.
The experience seemed so much like a date, she kept getting her mind screwed up on the subject. He was her date. He was her friend. He was her date. He was her friend. For some reason, the two didn’t go together to her liking. At the end of the evening she’d wanted badly to be kissed good-night.
Ironically, Jack didn’t kiss her or leave her at her door, but came in with her, stating he had more work to do. He’d be downstairs in the hotel office sending some faxes, but first he’d take a shower.
So she’d left him to his privacy and wandered aimlessly along the winding limestone paths, examining the awakening garden. Most flowers were not showing themselves yet. Even so, the place was quiet and pleasant. She supposed it was lucky for her that the other guests at the hotel were real honeymooners who had better things to do with their nights than drift alone in gardens. So she had the place to herself.
She was gradually drawn to the central fountain. Four gracefully jumping fish formed the center tower. From their open mouths, cascades of water poured into an upper tier. From there, the water coursed over the scalloped side, a never-ending waterfall, i
nto the lower reservoir, where colorful fish darted and flashed. The outer rim of the structure was fashioned from wide stone slabs into a curved seating area.
Lucy sat down and watched the play of water, trying to calm herself with the tranquillity of the tinkling sound. Nature’s music. Usually the sound of a fountain was calming and restful, but tonight, her nerves were so raw, her emotions so tattered, she didn’t think she would ever find the peace to enjoy simple pleasures again—not of a songbird or a breeze rustling a treetop, or even a thrill at a baby’s first smile. Her emotions were broken, charred, stomped into dust.
Stadler had wounded her deeply. She’d put her heart and soul into their relationship—their long-distance relationship—for two endless years. She’d looked at no other man, thought of no other man.
Then he had ripped her heart from her, trampled it, made her think she could never believe in love again. And here it was, only three weeks later, and she was looking at Jack in a way she’d never thought possible. Her heart doubled its beat when he came into a room, and she felt as though heaven smiled down on her every time he took her hand to help her across a street.
What was wrong with her? How fickle could she be? And how could she let herself fall for a man who was so obviously in love with someone else?
Was she bent on self-destruction? Did she need professional help?
Trailing a finger in the water, she closed her eyes, not wanting to think at all.
Restless, she jumped up, looking at her watch. It had been nearly forty-five minutes since Jack left her. He would be in the hotel office by now—doing his faxing or whatever. She might as well take her shower and be in bed before he got back. It would be best not to be awake. Unconsciousness, she’d discovered, was her best defense against having thoughts she shouldn’t be having. Thoughts that would get her nowhere.
Listlessly, she climbed up the steps to their room and moved almost in a trance to the armoire to get her T-shirt and panties. On the way to the bathroom, she stopped. She could hear the shower running.
The door stood ajar. She frowned thoughtfully, then shook her head. Jack was such a pulled-together man. Why was it that he had a hard time remembering to turn off a shower? She smiled to herself. It was kind of cute—to discover he had such an odd kink in his character. Kicking off her heels, she found herself wondering if Desiree ever had to take a cold shower after one of Jack’s forgetful moments.
She opened the bathroom door, deciding a cold shower might just suit her. Erotic thoughts about Jack were coming too hot and heavy lately, and she needed to cool off in more ways than one.
She laid her T-shirt and panties across the rim of the old-fashioned tub. Then she slipped out of her dress and hung it on the hook behind the door. After removing her underclothes, she grabbed the shower door handle and stepped inside—right into a very solid male object.
“Jack!” she cried as something thudded to the tiles. Her mind caught onto the fact that it had been a bar of soap. She’d either knocked it from his hand as she stumbled into him, or he’d dropped it in his shock.
She lurched back, but her foot landed squarely on the soap, making her slide. She flailed, trying not to fall, and found herself hanging helplessly from Jack’s solid neck.
His arms came around her to steady her. She blinked as the warm spray dampened the side of her face and body.
“My God,” Jack whispered hoarsely. “Luce?”
“I—I thought you were going to fax—”
“I decided to do that first. I...” He stopped, swallowed, seeming to be at a loss.
She hung on, but suddenly she no longer felt any fear of falling. Not even any embarrassment. She clung to him with a pure, wild need to be near him, body to body. She stared up into cinnamon eyes, long lashes, spangled and sparkling, watching his expression, a mixture of shock and desire. That split second in his arms, looking into his wonderful eyes, held her awakening, and she faced the truth at last.
She loved Jack Gallagher. She always had. But all those years ago, she’d been a peacemaking little girl and he’d been a handsome teenage rebel. He’d come from a different world, and she’d known in her heart that he was destined for greatness. He’d had such strength, such drive, but it had been mixed with an anger that frightened her.
The anger was gone now; just the drive remained. He was no longer a rebel, but a mover and shaker. He was still wildly handsome, though, with eyes that beckoned without words. He had been so different from her, so much older, but even so, she’d loved him. Loved him from the first moment. And when he’d run away, she’d put that love aside, trying to convince herself it had been a childhood crush.
Now she could see that Stadler had been nothing more than an ill-defined replica of Jack. Oh, how blind she’d been.
Jack was staring at her. He seemed to be waiting for something as he gently held her. She could feel his arousal, and it made her bold. She moved against him, her breasts relishing the rough, slick feel of his chest. “You’re soapy,” she breathed, her heart pounding so loudly she could hardly hear herself talk.
He half smiled. “I’m taking a shower.”
She smiled, too, feeling like a siren, a temptress, for the first time in her life. It felt good. “What a coincidence,” she murmured.
His smile faded, and his eyes took on an odd luster. “Lucy?” he asked a little raggedly. “What are we doing?”
She toyed with his soapy chest hair, stroking, pulling it into frothy tufts. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. Her smile faded, too. “What do you want to do?” Her gaze lifted to meet his again, this time shyly.
He opened his lips to speak, then stopped. He clamped his jaw shut, and she watched a muscle tense in his cheek. Visions of Desiree leaped into her mind. It was so clear he was trying to remain loyal to the woman he loved. He was aroused, but that was the nature of the male animal. Female nudity was a turn-on. Especially when that female was plastered up against him. Rubbing, teasing. The poor dear couldn’t help himself, but he was fighting it.
Drat that Desiree! Why did she have to exist? Lucy felt a surge of anger. She wouldn’t let that person. stop her. She loved Jack, too. She’d loved him years and years longer. A biting sweetness overpowered her as she got used to the words, and she felt a dawning need to know Jack completely, a need as strong as the necessity of taking air into her lungs. She loved him! Her body trembled with it. Slipping her hands back up to encircle his neck, she pressed her breasts into his chest, thrust her body against his arousal. This time, she used no coquetry, but gazed at him with candor. “Jack, make love to me.”
He sucked in a breath that seemed shuddery, his hands spreading along her back, drawing her closer. She could feel the heavy beat of his heart and prayed that the tumult in his chest was not mere lust, but an emotion much more dear.
“Oh, Lucy...” He groaned, then lowered his head and kissed her shoulder. His lips moved deliciously along her collarbone to her neck. “I want you....” His kisses tantalized and enlivened her jaw before he drew his lips away to gaze at her face. “But I have to ask you a question.”
She shivered with the desire for him to sweep her into his arms, to take her to a lover’s paradise. The woman in her sensed that he could show her pleasures she had never experienced, never expected to know. Her body quivered for the release she knew she could find only in his arms. “What?” she asked breathlessly. “Ask me. But hurry.” She didn’t know what the question was, didn’t care. She just wanted it to be over so that he would love her.
His eyes were dark with emotion, and she was stunned to detect a measure of pain there, too. “Lucy, before we do something we can’t undo, ask yourself honestly, would you feel good about it in the morning?”
His voice broke. She’d never known Jack’s voice to break. Plainly, this was difficult for him. She was forced to think about Desiree again. About Jack’s situation. He was here as a friend of the family, and now she was trying to seduce him. How unfair could she be? What kind of selfish
beast had she become, trying to come between Jack and the woman he loved? She hated that kind of greedy, self-centered creature. Did she plan to become one herself?
She looked up into his marvelous eyes and watched him watch her. She could tell the decision was hers. She had been the one to blunder into his shower—to tease and taunt him with her body.
Her fingers ached to touch him all over. Her lips ached to kiss him, to know again the hot, sexy message of his. lips, his tongue. But what would one mindless night of passion do to their friendship? He was right. It could never be undone. She was suddenly frightened. Would Jack avoid her, be embarrassed for her, for them? She couldn’t stand that. To see pity in his eyes. Or worse, regret, for being disloyal to Desiree.
A despondent shiver rushed through her as she began to lower her arms from his broad shoulders. Against her will, her hands lingered, relishing the feel of him beneath her palms. Her heart registered every scent, every texture, with reverence, and she knew the memory of this moment would never fade away.
With the most reluctance she had ever felt in her life, she backed away from him, and with trembling hands, she covered herself. Her whole body blazed with humiliation. “Thank you for having the strength of character to show me how shamefully I was behaving,” she whispered brokenly. Spinning away, she cried, “The honeymoon’s over, Jack. Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE drive back to Branson was silent, the tension between Lucy and Jack ricocheting around inside his car like bullets. He peered at her from time to time, hating what he saw. She was huddled as far from him as she could get, her face turned away in pretended fascination with the scenery. Since it was midnight and clouds had pushed across the sky, obliterating even the stars, the forested hills that zoomed by were a shadowy blur. Her remote posture was obviously more to avoid his company than any interest in her surroundings.
