“You couldn’t look hideous.”
She half turned. “How would you—”
“Because I have night vision.” He answered in a rush, then chuckled awkwardly. “Plus I just saw a third of your profile and it’s stunning.”
“Night vision?”
“Jane Doe, there is no way you could be anything but beautiful to me.”
Krista smiled out at the harbor, hating that his words made her melt, hating that the twilight seemed brighter because of them. She had no idea if they were anything but words, but she loved them.
“Now tell me your idea of the perfect relationship.”
“I don’t know, Jane Doe.” His voice came out low and gravelly. “That’s a work in progress.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning my idea of the perfect relationship is changing. Has changed.”
“How?” She held absolutely still, as if a giant insect had landed on her and she wasn’t sure if it was going to fly away harmlessly or sting the hell out of her.
“I used to think all I needed was a fireplace, a six-pack and twin blondes.”
She snorted. “Be still my heart.”
“Okay, I wasn’t quite that bad.”
She squeezed his arm to show she’d been kidding. “And now?”
“Now I think…” He rested his hand against her hip. “Now I think I’d rather have only one blonde, hot and willing.”
“From twins to one? That the big change?”
He chuckled. “A hot, willing blonde I can talk to about anything, one who understands what I’m saying, who challenges me to think and motivates me to act and makes me and my life better.”
She had to fight to keep from holding her breath. “What made you change?”
“Are you fishing, Jane Doe?”
“Shamelessly.”
“Then you know the answer already.”
He wrapped his arms around her. She slid her hands along his forearms, loving the feeling of being locked against him, throat nearly closed with emotion, brain open and giddy. “It’s the answer I hoped for.”
“Close your eyes.”
She closed her eyes, turned her head toward him and found his mouth, as she’d expected, feeling tears rise, forcing herself to breathe deeply to keep them at bay while she kissed him.
She was so gone.
He turned her the rest of the way to face him, kissed her over and over, then cradled her head onto his chest, in the curve of his neck.
“Give me another name for you,” he murmured. “I never liked Jane Doe.”
She hesitated, then dived in. She wanted him to have at least part of her true identity and see where it went and how it felt.
“Krista.” A thrill shot through her at this breach of their still-unspoken rules, double strong when he repeated her name and it sounded sexier and more intimate, new on his tongue, than it would have if he’d used it from the beginning, when he’d first been a stranger.
She rose on tiptoe again, eyes still tightly closed, and offered her lips, pressed herself against him, hard and rhythmic, until the kisses turned wild and needy. He shrugged the comforter higher over them; her pants fastenings gave under his fingers; he pushed the material off her hips and pulled her toward him.
Krista resisted. No. This would be for him. She reached down, found his fly and freed his erection. Then sank into the tent the comforter made around them and took him into her mouth, hard and smooth and hot. Under the down quilt it was dark, safe, anonymous….
Instead of fueling her arousal this time, the thought slowed her movement, made her fingers drop.
This wasn’t what she wanted, not anymore. Down here she was giving him pleasure any woman could be giving him. Any mouth, any set of fingers. She was not even a person to him, not a complete being, just pleasure in the darkness.
She let his penis fall from her lips, remained crouched at his feet. As long as they stayed strangers, what they shared emotionally and verbally, no matter how intense, was totally disconnected from their physical relationship.
Two sides, two halves far apart. Like Lucy, living placidly with Link day after day and having to find excitement elsewhere, in another room, in a pretend place.
That wasn’t what she wanted. But to take those two halves and make a whole worth having—and she believed with all her heart it would be worth having—she needed to know who he was.
Would he want that?
“Krista?” He poked his head into the dark, small space. “Is something wrong?”
“Actually…yes.”
He squatted next to her, keeping the comforter over them. “What is it?”
“This is just…” She gestured, and her nails made a thin squeak across the soft fabric.
“Not enough anymore.”
“No.” She whispered the word, leaned forward and, after a few tries, managed to find his mouth, warm and responsive and reassuring…but still in darkness. She pulled back. “We either need to move forward…or stop.”
“I agree.” He took her shoulders, gently stood with her in their down tent, which now seemed less a haven and more a silly barrier of fear. He fastened his pants at the same time she pulled hers up, both instinctively wanting cover.
Were they dressing because it was over and time for her to leave as anonymously as she’d come? Or—somewhat ludicrously since they’d made love so many times—were they embarrassed to show themselves to each other even partially naked?
The thought was painful, exposing as a mockery the intense closeness they’d shared so far and making her hunger even more for them to start down the road to a true, open, acknowledged connection.
She waited, surprised when he pulled her to him and kissed her, a long, passionate, wonderful kiss that made her eyes close and her arms wrap around him by themselves. Was this goodbye? If so, she wanted to go on saying goodbye forever.
But so much better if the kiss was prelude to a real hello….
The comforter dropped. The world cooled and brightened her eyelids. Her heart pounded. They’d emerged from the darkness. This wasn’t the end. This was Chapter One of a new level of their relationship. Of something that had the potential to be the best thing she’d ever known.
John Smith ended the kiss, his last. From now on he’d be kissing her as someone else. Someone real. Someone she couldn’t wait to meet.
Krista drew back, took in a long breath, lifted her lids—
And found herself staring into the killer hazel eyes of Aimee’s stepbrother, Seth Wellington.
12
SETH WATCHED KRISTA’S expression change from pleasured anticipation, to what he hoped most not to see—the shock of recognition. From there it wasn’t too great a leap to expect what would happen next. Dawning suspicion and the promise of anger.
He’d screwed this up, probably from the beginning, certainly at many steps along the way. He never should have stayed in her cabin at the Pine Tree Inn. He shouldn’t have contacted her after he got back. He shouldn’t have followed up with her after the Ritz. Yes, she was a powerful draw—the most powerful he’d ever experienced. But that didn’t justify what amounted to using her.
Today—even before she said it—he’d realized this couldn’t go on. Because against all logic and common sense, he was feeling more than lust and affectionate detachment for a woman for the first time since his girlfriend at Skidmore. Based on a few dates? Granted, remarkably intense ones, but he still didn’t understand how it had happened so fast and so anonymously. His feelings, and what he suspected might be hers, made it impossible—or at least dishonorable—to continue the charade of pretending he didn’t know who she was. His conscience had been kicking him in the butt pretty painfully for a while.
Standing on this freezing balcony, with the universe extending in all directions and the fading sunlight pouring over them, with Krista’s blond hair ruffled by the wind and the sight of her smooth skin tempting him, it seemed twice as ridiculous to imagine he’d ever want to go back
with her to closed spaces and darkness. Hell, he’d started fantasizing the exact opposite, bringing her with him wherever in the vast world they wanted to go.
The painful irony was that taking this step, freeing them from that blindness, all but guaranteed he’d never see her again. Finally being able to gaze into her beautiful eyes, horrified and accusing as they were, the thought punched him even more painfully than he’d expected.
“You’re…Seth Wellington.”
“Yes.” His voice came out flat, dead, reflecting the way he was starting to feel inside. How had this woman come to matter so much?
“And you…” She took a horrified step away from him; he had to force himself not to reach for her. “You were the guy at the table behind me at Thai Banquet.”
“Yes.” She remembered that, too. He’d hoped, stupidly, that their first exchange of glances at the restaurant had only had an impact in one direction. The outcome was inevitable now. She’d already begun to piece together a portrait that would be so unflattering he’d barely recognize himself. Certainly it would bear no resemblance to whatever she’d pictured of him so far.
“And you followed me? To Maine?”
“Yes.” What was he supposed to say? He hadn’t planned any of this, hadn’t cooked up a smooth story, hadn’t invented ways to charm her out of her reaction and, for some reason, he didn’t have the stomach to try now.
He’d simply realized when she stepped onto the patio tonight—petite and vulnerable with the mask over her eyes and no idea where she was, putting up with all of it just to be with him—that he couldn’t keep lying to her.
“That is…it’s…it’s creepy.” She was breathing hard now, a touch of fear in her eyes, cheeks reddening from anger and cold.
“Aimee sent her bodyguard after you, to intimidate you. I was chasing him, trying to call him off.” He wanted to howl. The explanation was ludicrous.
“Her bodyguard? To intimidate me? This sounds like a bad episode of some daytime drama. Your sister watches too much TV.”
He nodded, though he didn’t have any idea if Aimee watched too much or any.
“How the hell did she know I was going to Maine? Were you having me watched?”
“I heard you tell your sister.”
“You were listening.”
“Yes.”
“Then…” She took another step back; her face crumpled before she clenched her jaw and set it hard. “You heard me tell Lucy about my fantasy of having sex with a stranger.”
Damn it. Damn it. “Yes.”
“So you followed me to—”
“I told you why I went up there. I was following Juice, her bodyguard, not you. If the hotel hadn’t mixed up the keys, you never would have known I was there.”
She stared at him as if he was an alien, her fists tight, arms tight, face tighter, and any grab-at-straws hope that she’d appear at all softened by a logical explanation died. “Is this Juice guy big, black leather, beard and a gentle voice?”
The bad feeling in his gut got worse. “You’ve seen him?”
“He warned me off your sister in the cereal aisle of my supermarket.” She crossed her fists over her chest. “Yesterday. Do you have any idea how scary this is getting?”
The sickness rose into his throat. He wanted to punch Juice. And Aimee, too. “She went too far.”
“Too far? Further than you planned together?”
“No.”
“You’ve known who I am all along. Was your seduction about keeping me under control?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “The seduction was about wanting you.”
She looked startled; her lips parted slightly, and he wanted to kiss her so badly he couldn’t believe he had the strength to hold back. He hadn’t expected his desire for her to become so much stronger just from seeing her face or the excitement of their interaction to triple every time he looked into her eyes. Nor had he expected the anticipated pain of losing her to rise exponentially.
Did she feel the stronger connection, too, now that she could see him in the light?
As if she sensed the question, the glimmer of pleasure in her eyes died as if a guillotine blade had come down on it. “Was this about making sure I stayed out of the way of the Wellington makeover?”
He shook his head, choked and frustrated. “Not about that.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like that you lied to me all this time.”
“I didn’t expect you to like it.” His words came out gruffly. Ironic that she’d gotten him talking earlier about escaping it all. He wanted nothing more right now than to escape this ugly and impossible situation.
Except when he got free, he still wanted her with him.
She took in a sharp breath, started a sentence, sputtered, stopped, glared.
He needed to joke her out of this. Give her some perspective. Take her in his arms and kiss her, try to remind her how good they were, what this was really all about.
Why couldn’t he? Since when had he been at a loss for words?
He didn’t like the answer.
He was scared. The guy who could walk into a strange bar in any small town and make friends with the most hostile local was struck nearly speechless by a fiery, petite blonde he could pick up with one arm.
“Would you have told me who you were eventually if I hadn’t brought it up? Or just kept trying to get all the sex you could until I finally figured it out?”
He gritted his teeth at her sarcasm. “It wasn’t like that.”
“No? What was it like?” She lifted both arms and let them slap down, wind blowing sudden and fierce, as if her anger had called it. “The campaign to soften up Krista so she’ll go easier on Aimee and not screw up your new ad campaign?”
“No. I told you. That’s not—”
“Is this the latest strategy now, here, tonight? Hint that you have feelings for me, then show yourself so I can’t bear to say anything mean about your sister because by now I have most certainly fallen for you the way you planned me to?”
He couldn’t help looking incredulous. “God, that’s twisted! You think I’m capable of that?”
“How the hell should I know?” She turned and paced three steps away, two steps back, losing ground. “It’s pretty obvious I had no idea who you were.”
“I know that. But—”
“Come to think of it…” She stopped pacing, stood very still. “I still don’t.”
“You know me better than most people.” Again his voice was flat, tight, matter-of-fact. The fear was so strong, he couldn’t even begin to show her how much she mattered.
“Right. Except for the part that counted. That you were using me. A big Wellington laugh riot for all of you.”
She tried to push past him and he grabbed her arms, pressure rising in his chest, finally finding a voice. “No laughing. It’s been exactly what you thought for me the whole time. The rest of it is details and context. Massively screwed-up details and context, but it’s immaterial to what went on between you and me.”
“And I should believe you and trust you now why?” Her eyes were intense blue, catching the last ray of the sun, reflecting back into his heart like daggers.
He let her go. “I’ve given you no reason to trust me.”
“Bingo.” She walked past him and through the sliding doors into his huge living room.
He lunged after her, her name on his lips, then stopped himself right outside the balcony door. She was going. Damned if he’d beg. Damned if he’d let it show how much this hurt. She had her reasons for thinking he was a jerk. He’d had his reasons for keeping quiet about who he was, and when those reasons didn’t hold water anymore, he’d ended the game she’d enjoyed as much as he had.
He had no control over how she felt about it.
He’d just have to let her go.
Over his shoulder the sun disappeared behind buildings, turning the wind bitter. Seth went inside his empty expensive loft and slid the door shut, cutting off air and
freshness and light, leaving him in the last place he ever wanted to be again.
Darkness.
13
“SO.” LUCY SPOKE IN a deliberately false bright tone as she cleared her favorite Parisian Blue dishes from her and Link’s extremely late dinner, heart still thudding with giddy excitement after their third erotic adventure at the Cambridge Motel. They’d chatted during dinner in their usual fashion, but the excitement still zinged underneath. She was so thrilled he’d taken to the affair idea and enjoyed it as much as she did. “Did you have fun out with your friends again tonight?”
She finished stacking the plates in the sink and retrieved her red-and-black insulated lunch bag from her briefcase. Same routine, so different now. Instead of dull, robotic resentment, she had a light heart, a smile that wouldn’t stop and delicious soreness in a place that hadn’t been sore in way too long.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” He got up from their Shaker-style kitchen table where he’d been lounging, dropped a kiss on her shoulder and gave a faint wink that had her knees knocking. “Alexis must have made you work awfully hard. You got back as late as I did.”
“She was a slave driver.” Lucy wiped the lunch bag clean and put it on the granite counter to air-dry. “I’m exhausted. I feel like I ran a marathon.”
He chuckled and nudged her. “Strangely so do I.”
“Hmm. Must be something in the air.”
“Must be.” He reached to get a clean glass from the cabinet in front of her, and her whole body buzzed with awareness, the way it used to when they were first together. “’Scuse me.”
“S’okay.” It was more than okay. It was all she could do to keep from turning around, ripping his jeans off and going at it again. She wanted to burst into a song-and-dance number around the kitchen.
The phone rang, a call from Krista, cheating her out of her movie-musical moment.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh…stuff.”
Lucy’s good mood took on an edge of worry. Krista sounded miserable. “Uh-oh. Tell me.”
“That guy I was seeing?”
All I Want… Page 17
