As far as the company president was concerned at the time she first began receiving these frighteningly uncommunicative calls, Lauren Stephens didn’t even exist and West River was just a place on a map that maybe meant more dollars in the kitty. Aside from a number of acquaintances, met and forgotten, among the clients and spectators at the exhibition, the only other new person in Lauren’s orbit at that time was Steve Wallace. She’d met him at the exhibition, where he’d admired her work and, she suspected, had bought at least one of the canvases. He’d made his interest in the artist plain. She’d spent quite a lot of time with him those few days, at lunches and dinners, and walks on the boardwalk in the Beaches area, before his possessive nature showed itself and his charm grew thin. She’d been glad to escape back to her quiet life in West River.
The last time she’d talked to Steve on the telephone he’d been overbearing, domineering, and finally, angry when she said she couldn’t see him. Nevertheless, those were straightforward, if unpleasant, reactions, directly to her on the telephone. He’d had no reason to continue calling in this obsessive way after she’d made it clear that she might see him again, but only when her hectic schedule allowed. He’d even voiced his irritation at getting her answering machine and insisted he wouldn’t leave messages.
But if Steve was the mystery caller, how could he know he’d find her at this number? Suddenly, Lauren became aware that she was still holding the telephone receiver, clasped tightly to her breast, and the loud buzzing it was emitting was chewing at the edges of an incipient headache. Dropping it back into the green plastic cradle, Lauren reached for her purse and pulled out her address book.
“Damn,” she muttered to herself as she realized that Steve Wallace’s number wasn’t in the book. Visualizing, she remembered she’d scribbled his name onto the notepad by the telephone, intending to get the number from the caller ID list on the telephone and transfer it into her personal directory. Then Alex Waters had called, or was it Paul? Whichever, she’d forgotten and now had no way of tracing him until she returned home tomorrow. When she’d tried to trace the origin of the hang-up calls that way, she’d discovered that the caller was using an unlisted number, which would not appear on her caller ID list. However, she would wait for Steve to call, ask for his number and satisfy herself that he wasn’t the source of the mysterious hang-ups. Still, how he could have found out where she was tonight, she had no idea.
She shuddered as another thought hit her. Whoever was calling, if it was the same person, must also know the reason why she wasn’t in her own home tonight. Visions of the awful damage inflicted on her studio and on her possessions flooded into Lauren’s mind, and she thought that for a moment she was going to be sick. Then the nausea passed, along with the thought that it was likely, horribly likely, that the person who was making these telephone calls was also the person who had trashed her studio. And that same person must have been watching her every move. How else would he have known where to find her this evening?
Yet for the life of her, Lauren could not imagine anyone in her life to whom, deliberately or inadvertently, she’d caused the kind of hurt that would lead to such terrible anger and retribution. At least one good thing came from the late night call; that whatever or whomever was threatening her, was unlikely to have any connections with the West River Project. Somehow, that seemed cold comfort.
With a sigh, Lauren wearily got up and headed for the bathroom and the shower she had promised herself. Usually the world looks better after a hot shower and some sweet-smelling shampoo, she thought. At least, she hoped it would.
* * *
A short time later, Jon was surprised to see light coming from under the guest room door as he made his way in darkness along the familiar corridor to his own suite. He hesitated, knowing how late the hour was, but the desire to see Lauren and to make sure she was all right drove him to tap softly at the door. Moments passed before he heard the sound of her bare feet on the wooden floorboards on the other side of the door, moments made tense by his memories of the terrible damage inflicted on the studio and Warren Dillon’s analysis of the angry, possibly deranged character behind that vicious act.
But the sight of her, haloed by the soft light from the room behind her, cheeks scrubbed pink and hair glowing like burnished red mahogany against the deep, rich green of the terrycloth robe, took his breath away and emptied his mind of everything but her presence, the sight, smell, the nearness of her. His breath thickened as he became conscious that she wore nothing under the loosely belted robe, and the deeper flush of her cheeks told him she’d read his look.
He wanted to tell her he was just checking that everything was all right, after seeing her light still on. He wanted to tell her that he was just passing. He knew he should say goodnight and go. Now. Yet an inner need deeper than anything he had ever felt before, a longing that tore at his innermost core, propelled him towards her. As he stepped forward, holding her with his eyes, she sighed softly and opened her arms to him and he was lost.
Lost in the softness of her embrace, the sweet floral smell of her shampoo, the deeper womanly smell of her, Jon stood with Lauren in his arms, rocking slightly as he reveled in the peace and serenity that enveloped him. Then a nagging, insistent longing snaked its way through his belly and with a groan, he bent his head and tasted her lips in a touch as gentle and as worshipping as starlight on snowflakes.
For Lauren, it was as though the kiss awakened her to a dream of heaven, a paradise where she was safely anchored in the harbor of Jon’s arms. Her hands fluttered of their own accord around his neck, feeling the dampness of melting snowflakes on his coat, sensing the strength in his broad masculine frame, and inhaling the perfume of his clean, male scent. But when his lips touched hers, it was like being brought from the sanctuary of one paradise and shown a glimpse of another, turbulent, wilder and more impossibly beautiful one just ahead.
With a soft moan, unable to resist, she tangled her fingers in the thick hair at his nape as she pulled his head down towards her. Opening her eyes, she gazed directly into his, and the swirling desire there took her breath away. The fire that had been banked in her stomach began to spread, its flames licking her most sensitive parts until they cried out for a release that only he could bring.
With a shuddering breath, Lauren reached up to flick her tongue over Jon’s lips before pressing her mouth full on his, opening her lips to offer him full rein to roam freely in the welcoming warmth. The result was like touching a match to the fuse of the time bomb that had been slowly, inexorably ticking away between them since their eyes had first locked in that echoing village meeting hall an eternity ago.
* * *
Jon pulled her more tightly to him, as if he couldn’t seem to get close enough, as if he wanted to absorb her into himself to assuage the raging longing that swept through him. The closer he brought her, the hotter the fires burned and the more he longed to be closer still. He cupped the back of her head, bringing her sweet mouth more fully to his, and then slowly slid down the slender lines of her neck to rest on the tantalizingly loose collar of her robe.
Following his lead while burning with her own needs, Lauren unbelted the robe and brought his hands inside to rest on the velvet of her skin.
Her response blazed through him in its honesty, in its evidence of her need and desire to be with him as he wished to be with her, and his heart beat thunderously in his ears as he slowly, lingeringly, slid his hands along her warm, smooth skin until they cupped her breasts, his thumbs gently massaging the rosy nubs that peaked in responsive desire.
Lauren shivered with sheer pleasure at his touch, and sagged against him for a moment, her head resting in the hollow at the base of his neck. Yet her need was only satisfied for a moment and, taking her arms from around him, she stepped back slightly began with trembling fingers to pull down the already loosened tie and then to undo the buttons of his shirt. Jon stiffened and held still against her as she worked, so that Lauren’s blood thrilled throu
gh her pulses as she realized he was captive in the same throes of need and desire that held her.
When she finally pushed away the barrier of his shirt and smoothed the palms of her hands against the hair-roughed skin of his chest, Jon shuddered back to life and captured her mouth in a kiss that offered all a man could offer a woman, everything he had to give.
Crushed against him, her mouth melded with his, her body separated only by the rough wool of his pants from his solid masculinity, Lauren clung to Jon as if the world would end if she loosened her grasp. Never before had she felt such a torrent of desire, such an absolute need to touch, feel, and join with another human being. With just a touch of his hands, a pressure of his lips, Jon Rush had aroused in her more feeling, more need and desire, than she had ever believed she could experience. Holding him to her, Lauren listened to his ragged breathing, felt his rampant need, and knew that her reactions were shared.
Then Jon captured her roving hands against his naked chest, and stepped back to create a space between them. His face flushed, his eyes dark with desire, he sighed deeply. Rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumbs, Jon looked directly into her eyes.
“Lauren, believe me, I promised myself this would not happen. I would not take advantage of your presence here to…to…God, to make love to you as I’ve wanted to love you since that first night, there under the stars, outside the meeting hall. Do you remember?”
Bereft of the warmth of his body but heated by his look, Lauren nodded mutely. She remembered every detail, every nuance of that starlit, frost-rimed night, just as she remembered every detail of every moment she’d ever spent with this man. His very being was engraved indelibly into hers, and she desperately wanted to explore everything he had to offer, to give in return everything she had to give, and she knew this was plain in her eyes as she held his gaze.
Still he held back, her artist’s long-fingered hands captive in his larger ones, the heat of his body searing her naked skin as she arched towards him. Desire flushed his face, but he spoke carefully, calmly.
“I want anything that happens between us to happen because you want it. I don’t want you to turn to me because you’re afraid or stressed or need comfort because of everything else that has been going on in your life. Say the word and I’ll walk away, back to my own bed. But I promise I’ll still be there for you, Lauren. I’ll support you in any way you ask, protect you in any way I can. No conditions. No demands. No pressure.”
“Just so long as you know that sometime soon, Lauren Stephens, we’re going to make love. But it has to be when you want me as much as I want you, and when you know what you’re doing.”
Lauren swallowed past the tears of joy and trust that seemed to block her throat. Knowing the strength of his need, aware her own display of abandoned desire, she was touched to her core that he should be willing to deny his own desire and step back to be sure that she was ready, that she wanted him as much, as honestly, as he obviously wanted her. Her heart swelled with pride that he should think so highly of her, and her answer was to reach up and kiss his beloved mouth.
“Oh, my heavens, Jon, if you only knew. From the first time I saw you, your image has flickered through my mind, the thought of your voice, your touch, has driven me insane. Your business has made me furious, your attitudes have driven me to rage, but all the while, I’ve wanted to fall into your arms and have you hold me. From that very first night, you’ve haunted me. I’ve known we were coming to this—and I want you now, without reservation.”
He stood motionless, his eyes locked with hers, for a full half-minute. Then, with a groan of pure joy, he pulled her to him and kissed her, his hands pushing the terrycloth robe from her shoulders and sliding downwards to clasp her firm, round buttocks and mould her body to his.
His mouth still on hers, he swung her into his arms and carried her naked to the bed. Laying her down, he abandoned her only long enough to take off his own clothes then, naked and proud, he returned to the bed and to the warmth of her embrace.
* * *
He prowled the darkened room like a tiger, the dangerous energy radiating from him almost visible like sparks of fire. Pacing backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, he tortured himself with images of nakedness and passion. It all came down to this, all over again. Jon Rush had stolen what was rightfully his, just as Jon Rush’s father had cheated his to leave his son disinherited.
So many had danced sycophantically at Jon Rush’s beck and call, even when these same people ignored him, shunned him, laughed at him behind his back. He’d set out to prove them all wrong, to prove his power, to prove that it was he, not the other, who had the abilities for greatness.
And she was to have been an essential part of it. Indeed, after only a few moments in her presence, she became the reason for what he had already started. Beautiful, talented Lauren. Lauren, who he had thought could see through to his very central being, his real self. He had been prepared to offer her everything, to give her himself and all he was capable of, to lay the power he knew would be his at her feet.
Just as he had laid his hopes at her feet—and she had trampled on them, dashed them into muddy ruins in her headlong flight to throw herself at Jon Rush. Images of Rush’s hands on her beautiful body, of Rush enjoying the silken loveliness that was to have been his, caused the anger to boil almost out of control. The man rammed his fist hard into the plaster wall so that the immediate physical pain might dull the mental anguish that threatened to swamp him.
* * *
Lauren stretched deliciously in the warmth of the soft sheets and satin covers. Keeping her eyes closed, she reveled in the laziness of simply being, until the awareness of why she felt so good came to her. Her body felt heavy with a muscular arm thrown across her waist, the large hand resting tenderly between breasts that still tingled from the loving attention they’d received. As she slowly stirred, the arm tightened and pulled her towards the wall of masculine hardness that curved around her, and Lauren opened her eyes to look into Jon’s smiling, smoky blue gaze.
“Well, well,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her gently. “Look who’s back in the land of the wakeful. You certainly seem to have slept well,” he teased, the hand on her breast now joined by another, the two barely touching her flesh yet their rhythmic massaging was hypnotizing her into a state of heady desire. She wriggled backwards to press more fully against him, and was delighted by the readiness she found against her soft flesh.
“What, again already?” she asked, smiling up at him.
“Oh, love, the effect you have on me, I think I could go forever,” Jon replied huskily.
“Braggart,” she laughed, but the laughter was shot through with desire and her own hands were already reaching for him.
“Oh, I think I can prove it,” he muttered against the hollow of her neck as he gathered her into his arms and set about doing just that as the early morning sun pressed its brightness against the peach satin drapes.
Chapter Nine
Lauren awoke again much later, and this time she was alone in the love-rumpled bed. The sun skimming off melting snow shone through the sparkling glass of the windows where someone, presumably Jon, had drawn back the drapes to let in the day.
A cooling cup of coffee sat on the night table with a folded sheet of beige notepaper leaning against it. On the paper was one word, her name, Lauren, in strong, bold script. Opening the note, she read Jon’s apologies that he had had to go in to Toronto to an early meeting, and the promise that his security chief, Warren Dillon, would drop by about 11 am and escort Lauren back to her studio in West River. He’d added that he would prefer that she stay as his guest for the weekend, but would understand if she needed to go to her home.
And at the very bottom of the sheet, written in capitals and underlined were the words: NEVER LIKE THIS WITH ANYONE, NEVER BEFORE. And he’d signed simply: Love, Jon.
Lauren snuggled back against the pillows, the note in her hands as she breathed in the lingering aroma
of their passion and smiled to herself. Never like this with anyone, never before. She didn’t have much of a platform of experience, but she knew enough to know that Jon was a skilled lover. Yet their lovemaking had been seasoned with something more than experience or technique. The depth of emotion that had arced between them had caused hidden fires to burn out of control, so that touch, taste, and smell were all enveloping and the world beyond their embraces had ceased to exist.
“I’m in love with him”, Lauren exclaimed to herself, surprised that she’d voiced the thought aloud but knowing it was true even as the murmur died away in the room. “I really am in love with a man I’ve known for just a few days!” Then she smiled, realizing that love was the seasoning that had taken their physical desires into these heady new heights.
The only thing to spoil her day was the thought of showering and slipping into the clothes she’d worn all the previous day. Before she could throw back the covers, there was a knock at her door and Mary Wilson entered at her invitation, the two Labrador twins dancing at her heels. She was carrying two parcels with the name of a well-known Toronto store on them, and a large shoebox.
“Jon called me on the journey home last night and had me order these for delivery today. He knew you’d have no clothes to change into. He said to tell you that he had to guess the sizes but that he was always good at figures,” Mary told an astonished Lauren dryly, her mouth twitching at the double entendre in Jon’s message.
Grasping the sheet to her naked breast, Lauren felt a faint blush rise to her cheeks as she wondered if the other woman knew that her employer had spent the night in this very bed. To her sensitized nerves, she was sure their hours of lovemaking must be evident, yet Mary Wilson simply laid the parcels down on the dark wood blanket box at the end of the bed and turned, smiling, to Lauren.
“Now, what would you like for breakfast? I’m just a tea and toast person myself, and Jon usually gulps down coffee and cereal. But if you’d like a cooked breakfast, I’ll be happy to provide it for you,” the housekeeper said.
Judgement By Fire Page 11
