He moved again. No. She had to be honest with herself. She was glad she’d remained braless, glad to feel these kinds of physical sensations again, this kind of wild and heady emotion. The faint motion of the boat in the water made her feel as if the two of them were far away from others, and alone, despite the sounds of voices calling across the marina, the whine of outboards coming and going.
“This?” he asked, sliding his hand down her back and drawing her against him.
She raised her gaze to meet his and answered his question. “No. No, I don’t want that.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Oh, lord, was that where the phrase had come from? Far more than her pants would be on fire in another couple of seconds.
“I didn’t ask what you don’t want,” he said, his voice a husky challenge that echoed the one in his eyes, “but what you do want.”
“What?” Now, now that it was probably too late, she tried to lighten it up. “And ruin any feminine mystique I might have? A girl’s supposed to keep some things secret, isn’t she?”
“Not all of them,” he said, his voice so low it seemed to vibrate in her bones. “And not all the time. For instance, she shouldn’t try to keep secrets from a man who can read the truth in her eyes.”
“What truth is that?”
“All your secrets. Your deepest wishes. Desires. Fantasies.” He leaned lower, his breath fanning across her lips. “Tell me. Before I kiss you and find out for myself how well I read you.”
She placed the tips of three fingers over his lips. “You said two reasons. You only gave me one.”
He parted his lips, nearly capturing one of her fingers, but she snatched it back before he did more than flick it with the tip of his tongue, but even that small caress heightened the tension between them. It hurt her heart to beat.
“The second reason, Jackson,” she reminded him.
“Because you have salt on your lip.”
She licked it off, smiled and said, “Sorry, it’s gone. I could get you some more almonds if you’re suffering from salt withdrawal.”
He grinned. “I’m not suffering from salt withdrawal. I’m suffering from six months in the Antarctic on an all-male ship.”
She chuckled, glad the spell had been broken—at least to an extent that made breathing an option again. “Ah, so this isn’t personal at all. Anyone would do. You really should wait till the festival and go visit Caroline.”
He widened his stance, splayed his fingers open on her lower back, pressing her against him intimately. Her breath stalled as she realized the spell hadn’t been broken at all. It had just gained strength.
“Uh-uh,” he said. “And it’s personal, all right. Very, very personal. All I might want from Caroline would be a kiss. For the sake of the community. But you …”
She saw in his eyes, felt in the power of his body, exactly how personal it was. She held herself very still against him, not wanting to tip the balance between teasing and the reality of their mutual, growing desire for each other. A fine tremor shook her as he traced the shape of her eyebrows with his lips. She shivered and wet her lips.
“Well?” he said, lifting his head. “I’m waiting.”
“Waiting?” She could have wished for a steadier voice. She could have hoped he wouldn’t see the excitement she knew must be brimming in her eyes, the heightened warmth of her cheeks. She might have wished for him not to notice her swift, shallow breathing, and not to feel the quiver running through her like a low-voltage current.
She could have wished for all that, but she didn’t. What she wanted was to ramp up the voltage until they both sizzled.
“Waiting for what?” she whispered.
He dropped his lashes halfway and ran the tip of his finger along her lower lip. “For permission to do what I want. What I’ve wanted since the first time I saw you.”
“You kissed me then, if I remember it right.”
“You remember it, but I didn’t kiss you right.”
She met his gaze, suddenly serious. “You don’t strike me as a guy who normally asks permission.”
“I’m not,” he admitted readily enough. “But maybe these aren’t normal circumstances.”
They certainly weren’t normal for her! “If you’re looking for more than a kiss, you better go look elsewhere. It’s all I’m offering.”
“But you are offering?”
“Would it do any good to say I hadn’t intended to offer even that?”
He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.
“Sure.” He grinned, lifting his head. “If you meant it.”
“Half an hour ago—ten minutes ago—I would have.”
“And now?”
She sighed with more drama than she’d intended, and watched laughter sparkle in his eyes. “I’m afflicted with a terrible thirst for knowledge, a curiosity that knows few bounds. And I’ve been wondering since that first night what it would be like to kiss you. To be really kissed by you. But that’s all.”
“If you’re sure that’s all.”
She slid her hands up over his chest to his shoulders, very conscious of the strength of his muscles, the hardness of his body. He’d be a powerhouse of a lover. The thought made her weak. “That’s it, sailor.”
“If that’s it, that’s it. I guess I’ll have to take what I can get. Just a kiss.”
“Okay, as long as you’re sure you won’t try to take it any farther. Remember, we’re not as alone here as it might seem.”
He backed off a bit. “I think I’ve just been insulted.”
“No. Merely warned,” she said. “I’m pretty sure you’re not accustomed to curtailing your … desires.”
“Hah! Spending six months at sea? Of course I am.”
“But there’s no temptation at sea.”
His chuckle was deep, throaty, seductive. “Ah, so you see yourself as a temptation?”
With both thumbs, she stroked the skin in the V of his shirt, then up under his chin, finally bringing her fingers together at his nape. “I won’t for much longer if you don’t shut up and kiss me.”
She knew she’d gotten to him by the roughness of his voice. “How do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, brushing her lips again. “Like … this?”
He lifted his head as if to gauge her reaction and ran the backs of his fingers from her shoulder to her face. Her lids drifted shut. A ragged breath escaped her. This was more personal than she’d thought it would be, standing in Steve Jackson’s arms, toying with him, letting him toy with her. It heightened all her senses, brought her to an intense state of need. It was a whole lot more personal than it ought to be.
He kissed her again, with a little more pressure, the barest flick of his tongue. “Or like that?” he asked.
“Mmm,” she murmured noncommittally, without opening her eyes.
“Or maybe this?” he whispered, then covered her lips fully with his.
The sound she made wasn’t even close to a word, but he must have recognized assent when he heard it, when he felt it, because she was assenting to that kind of kiss and they both knew it. She was probably assenting to a great deal more, but she wasn’t prepared to think about that yet. Enough for now to accept, to feel, to enjoy and to give …
Her head began to spin as Steve parted her lips with his, boldly, surely, masterfully. This man had done lots of kissing. He had honed it to an art. Perfected it beyond any perfection she had ever dreamed of. His lips were hard. They were hot. They were dry.
But his tongue was wet, just as hot, and just as hard. Nothing could have kept her from accepting its thrust, welcoming it, tilting her head back to offer him more. Joyfully, she caressed his throat, his ears, the back of his neck, then let her eager fingers tunnel into his hair.
Ah, this was like every fantasy come true. His kiss filled her soul even while whetting her body’s hunger. He groaned, deepened the kiss, held her tighter, enfolding her. He tangled his hand in her hair, began spreading the strands of her braid apart, massa
ging her scalp while she tightened her arms around him.
She pressed herself against him, returning his caresses, reveling in his physical response to her, of hers to him, their mutual need building, escalating, whirling out of control.
She wanted him, knew beyond any doubt he wanted her just as much. He spread his legs wider, drawing her in close, one hand on her bottom, right over the tattoo she’d sworn he’d never get a chance to see. The tips of his fingers burned hot against the bare skin of her thigh below the hem of her shorts.
Now, she knew he was going to see, to touch, a whole lot more of her than a small tattoo. She hooked a leg behind his, running the sole of her foot up his calf, aching for him to lift her off her feet and lay her down on the settee. She rubbed her hands up and down his back as he began to lower her slowly.
“Steve,” she murmured. He slid his hands up under her tank top, eased it up, and then covered her breasts with his big, warm hands. She wanted more, much more. She needed his weight, his heat, his mouth where his hand was. She needed his hands everywhere, his kisses everywhere. “Please,” she said.
“I want you.” His voice rumbled darkly in her ear as his mouth finally took her breast, “So sweet, so hot … Lissa …”
Steve continued to lower her slowly, still kissing her. She settled back willingly, drawing him closer, and—Wham!
The settee tilted backwards, its cushions flying in all directions. Someone’s foot knocked over two forgotten cups of cold coffee, splattering it everywhere. And as if all that wasn’t horrible enough, Lissa then smashed her elbow into a sharp corner of the coffee table.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” In pain, she rolled on the floor, moaning, clutching her elbow. “Oooh, that hurts! Damn! But that hurts!” She began rubbing her arm, which was aching like crazy. Tears stung her eyes, and she curled into a ball.
“What? What?” She felt Steve lift her up into a sitting position. She opened her eyes and stared blearily at him. With both his hands still wrapped around her waist, he studied her. “What’s wrong? What happened? What did I do?”
“Nothing. I bashed my elbow.” She rubbed it, nursing it tenderly as the pain slowly ebbed.
“We’re on the floor.” His eyes flicked this way and that. “How did we end up here?”
“We fell. The settee slipped. I had it propped up on two soup cans so I could varnish the front legs. I forgot. It tipped over.”
“This wasn’t what I’d planned,” Steve said ruefully.
“It wasn’t what I’d planned, either,” she said.
Steve’s hands tightened around her waist. He glanced in the direction of the open door. “Here comes trouble,” he murmured in her ear, “or I miss my guess.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Huh?” Had he brained himself when they hit the floor? “What do you mean?”
He jerked his head sideways. “Him.”
She followed the direction of his gaze and found her father standing on the door sill, staring at them with a look of bewilderment.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped, scrambling to her feet, sending the upset settee skittering around in a semicircle until one of its legs bashed into Steve, knocking him flat again. Lissa faced her father as he came down the last step and stood erect. “Dammit, couldn’t you knock?”
“I’m sorry,” he said as Steve clambered to his feet, trying to get between Lissa and her father. He took hold of her arm. She wasn’t having any of that.
“Let go of me!” She jerked free, tripped on one of the cushions and flopped down onto the only solid chair in the room.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said, running a hand through his hair, leaving it all curls and spikes sticking wildly into the air. “It just started as a kiss.” It took a moment for Lissa to realize he wasn’t apologizing to her, but to her dad.
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” her father said with an expansive wave of his hand. “Believe me, I know my daughter. She’s never been able to resist a charmer. Of course, there isn’t a man alive who can resist her, either, so I suppose it evens out. This is just a case of history repeating itself. And about time, too, I might add.”
“Dad!” Lissa said.
In the same second, Steve echoed, “Daughter?”
“Of course she’s my daughter. What did you think?”
“Dammit, Steve, let me handle this,” she said. “Dad, what are you doing down here?”
“What did I think?” Steve said as if Lissa hadn’t spoken. “I thought when I saw her sitting on your lap in the bar, then saw the two of you leaving with your arms around each other you were … well, you know what I thought.”
Her father’s face creased with laughter. “I’m flattered,” he said as he stepped closer and offered his hand to Steve.
“I’m not,” Lissa put in, but her dad continued to ignore her, actually reaching around her as if she was nothing more than an annoying intrusion.
“Name’s Frank Wilkins,” he said.
“Steve Jackson.”
“Yeah, I know. I saw you come aboard with Merv, thought I’d come down to make your acquaintance. Then I heard a crash and my daughter hollering and yelling, so I figured I’d better just come on in and see who was attacking whom.”
“Dad!”
“We had a slight mishap, is all,” Steve said.
Lissa watched her father take in the situation. Pure devilment danced in his eyes as he looked around at the trashed saloon, the scattered cushions, the overturned settee and a couple of tomato soup cans lying on the floor, one badly dented. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Lissa’s frazzled hair. It was clear he had figured out exactly what had been going on prior to his arrival. “Yeah,” he said. “Well, next time, maybe you’d better aim for something more stable.” He didn’t say like a bed, but Lissa knew that was what her father meant.
Obviously, so did Steve. He grinned. “I will.”
“Well, I won’t,” she said, “because there won’t be a next time.”
“I’d never hurt Lissa,” Steve said.
“Yeah, well, she might hurt you, so tread carefully, my son, tread carefully.” Her dad laughed, even as she glared fiercely at him.
Steve grinned. “I’d planned to, but it might already be too late.”
Frank nodded. “I know what you mean. That’s how it was with me when it came to her mother. I was a goner in less than thirty seconds.”
“Happens like that sometimes,” Steve observed.
Lissa put the settee back upright, slammed its cushions in place and sat down on it so hard that she sent it skidding back two feet. “Would you two quit discussing me as if I weren’t here?” Then she crossed her arms and glared at the two men. “If you don’t mind, perhaps you could make each other’s acquaintance elsewhere. I have a lot to do today, beginning with getting a few hours’ sleep.”
Her father sank into the leather chair and swung his feet up onto the ottoman, looking like a man who intended to stay. “Lissa works too hard,” he said, waving Steve to another chair. Instead, Steve sat down on the other end of the settee, which put him much too close to her. She pulled her arms in tight around her waist.
“So I gather,” Steve said. “We’ve, uh, been discussing Madrona Madness.”
“Madness.” Lissa muttered, “There should have been more discussion and less madness.”
“What was that?” her father asked.
“Never mind.”
Laughing, Steve leaned forward, hands linked loosely between his knees, the picture of a man at ease, and spoke to her father. “I understand you’re planning an archery contest for the festival. Sounds like fun. I used to be a pretty good archer when I was in college. Maybe I could coach some of the kids.”
Frank beamed. “Sure, why not?”
“Because he’s not going to be here, Dad!”
Steve shot her a startled look.
“Lissa’s been researching an authentic Sherwood Forest costume for me,” Frank said. “I figure I’m a bit long in the t
ooth and round in the gut for Robin Hood, so maybe I’ll be Friar Tuck instead.” He grinned and ran a hand over his crisp hair. “Might have to shave this, to get the right tonsure. What do you think?”
“Nah, I doubt it, though I’m no expert, but if you could use a little help with the research, my mother’s a collector and trader in antiques, both furniture and clothing. She wouldn’t have anything going back to medieval days, of course, but probably knows Web sites where we could get information.”
“Well, now, that’s mighty kind of you, son. We never turn down a volunteer.”
“Dad …”
“What would you like me to do?” Steve asked. “I mean, besides coaching the kids.”
“Well, let’s see now. I think you’d make a great Robin Hood. Can you see yourself in green tights and a—”
“No,” Lissa said, getting to her feet. “No, he cannot. Dad, Steve is a guest. If he’s still here when the festival’s on, he should be allowed simply to enjoy it, not be put to work.”
“Melissa—” her father said as if she were four years old “—don’t interrupt, dear.” Then, with scarcely a change in tone, he went on, “Well, what do you think? You interested?”
Eyes firmly focused on Lissa, Steve said, “I’m interested all right.”
“Well, then, fine,” she said. “Why don’t the two of you sit here and discuss your green tights? I, for one, am going to get some rest before I tackle the stuff I have to accomplish today. Dad, lock the door when you and Steve leave, please.”
Her father grinned, not moving. “In other words, ‘get out, get out now, and take my boyfriend with you?’”
Through clenched teeth, Lissa said, “He is not my boyfriend. I don’t have boyfriends anymore, Dad. I’m not a teenager. I don’t want boyfriends anymore. I simply want to be left alone to do my job until such time as I’m free to do what I really want.” She looked pointedly at her father. “I think you get my drift?”
She thought her exit was dignified and ladylike until she skidded on a magazine that had been knocked to the floor, and did the splits between the saloon and the galley.
Cinderella Search Page 8
