Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot Collection», sayfa 29

CHAPTER TEN

ROWAN TOOK THE weekend off. She’d worked the last three weekends in a row and she was entitled to some down time. She headed for the airport, got on a plane, and three hours later touched down at a little regional airport in northern New South Wales.

And found Jared waiting for her.

Oh, she could get used to this.

He was good at making a woman feel special.

Offer her a crooked smile and a searching glance and the job was done.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, and it was good to know that she hadn’t had to organise anything about this weekend beyond turning up to it.

‘Beach house tonight. Sailing tomorrow. Lena’s for late-afternoon drinks when we get back, and then beach house again on Saturday night. How does that work for you?’

“Beautifully.’ It sounded a whole lot like heaven.

‘Do you have to be anywhere on Sunday?’ he asked.

‘I did have an invite to Sunday dinner with my parents, but I cancelled on them.’

‘Is that going to cause a problem?’

‘I get the feeling they were expecting it. My parents recently retired and they’re feeling invisible. They’re searching for meaning within their new life, people to fill it, but I can’t be there for them the way they want me to be. Except for my grandfather, I don’t really do family.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because there isn’t any.’

He fell silent after that, and so did she as they headed towards a four-wheel drive tabletop ute, with fishing rod racks and surfboard racks gracing its roof.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he said as he stowed her carryon bag in the back and opened the door for her.

‘So am I.’

‘I’d kiss you, but I want to get you home first.’

‘Is this a control thing?’

He smiled down at her, slow and sweet. ‘It’s a once-I-start-I-don’t-aim-to-stop thing.’

Maybe it came naturally to him, or maybe he’d had a lifetime’s practice, but this man knew instinctively how to make her feel like the most precious person in the world.

And Rowan loved him for it.

Jared figured that asking Rowan how her working week had gone was off-limits. He told her what his family was up to, what he’d been up to, and that took five minutes. He made a late supper for them out of mussels and broth and chunky bits of bread and her eyes warmed even as she demolished it.

‘Are you on call?’ he asked, and she shook her head around a mouth full of food.

No.

‘White wine?’

Yes.

He’d been seducing women since his late teens. Confidently. Effortlessly.

This was different.

‘Beds and bedrooms are down the hall.’ Not exactly the smoothest introduction to their potential sleeping arrangements. ‘There’s plenty of them.’

‘I’m thinking yours.’

Well, all righty, then.

But he didn’t rush to get her there. He wanted to take his time.

They headed for the deck after dinner, and maybe Rowan guessed that it was one of his favourite places and maybe she didn’t, but in the end they had the big-screen television out there as well, along with enough pillows, cushions and deckchair mats to sleep twenty.

Open-air movie night, and the movie Rowan chose for them to watch was a spy one. They rewrote it as they watched, and Rowan laughed and drank another glass of wine, and pretty soon it was going on for one a.m. and her head was resting on his chest and her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular and deep.

Jared knew what bone-deep tiredness felt like and he had a sneaking suspicion that Rowan was no stranger to it either. He turned off the big screen and the lights and let the stars shine down on them. He dragged pillows towards them, pulled a cover over, tucked her into his side until they fitted together like pieces of a puzzle, and followed her into oblivion.

And the little bird inside his chest—it was singing.

Rowan woke before dawn—it was just her way. She’d been doing it for too many years to adjust easily to waking at a later time.

This time, however, she woke to a sea of pillows and blankets, the sky overhead, and a warm weight at her side was—Jared West. And he was a possessive bastard, even in his sleep, if the hand splayed over her heart was any indication. He hadn’t pressured her into anything last night. In fact he’d given her what she’d needed. A place to unwind from the pressures of a hellish week, permission to lie back and breathe.

She might have wanted soul-stealing sexual relations, but he’d given her exactly what she’d needed.

She rolled onto her stomach and moments later he followed, awake and tracing gentle fingers down her spine.

‘Did you sleep well?’ he murmured.

‘Mmm.’

‘Want to not sleep any more?’

‘Mmm.’

How was that even a question, given that his lips were following his fingers down her spine, soft and dragging and wholly reverent? A breaking dawn and the promise of lovemaking. She arched back against him, helpless in her longing for him.

‘Want you to be in me.’

He savoured her—there was no other word for it—and she surrendered to the blinding pleasure and the warmth.

He curled his hands around her thighs once he’d finished exploring every dip of her back. He lifted her to his mouth and for a while she thought he might be a sex god. And then he released her, and then blanketed her again as he slid into her, slow and easy, and then she could have sworn he was a sex god.

He rode her slowly, teased and tormented, built a stairway to the sky for her. She climbed every step of it. And in the light of a new day they climaxed together.

This wasn’t sex as she knew it.

This was different.

‘Children,’ Rowan said to Jared later that afternoon, over a meal of barbecued ocean perch and mixed salad, served on plastic plates on the deck of Jared’s yacht. ‘What’s your view on them?’

‘I like them,’ he told her. ‘Got nothing against them. Not sure I want any.’

‘You’re young yet. This is only to be expected. Do you envision them anywhere in your future?

‘What if I get it wrong?’ He gestured with his fork, barefoot and expansive, looking ever more carefree. ‘If I fall down on the parenting job the child wears it. Parenthood requires careful consideration.’

Indeed it did.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Do you want children?’

‘My parents are really bad role models. My grandfather, by his own admission, was neglectful of my mother, and my mother continued the tradition. I figure that if I remain childless the cycle will stop.’

‘And I figure that for bull. Do you want children? If you had a loving family to raise them in … a village full of caring people to help you … would you want them then?’

Her hesitation told him many things.

‘I’d still have to make a lot of lifestyle changes,’ she murmured. ‘And I’m getting a little old for child-bearing.’

A valid point—but not insurmountable, by his reckoning.

‘And I’ve never really met a man I’ve felt a compelling urge to have children with,’ she added quietly. ‘I don’t know what kind of parent I’d make. What about my job? You know the hours I keep. It took me five days and two IOUs to get this weekend off.’

Jared frowned.

‘I gave up on the idea of motherhood when I got the directorship,’ she told him. ‘I know you don’t think that the age gap between us matters, but maybe my ambivalence when it comes to having children will matter to you.’

‘You’re pushing me away?’

‘No.’ She looked troubled for the first time that weekend. ‘I’m letting you in. Telling you about the hopes and dreams I still harbour, as well as the ones I’ve let go of.’

Jared digested that, as she’d meant him to all along, and then he looked out over the ocean and realised that fatherhood held no appeal for him if the woman by his side didn’t want to be a mother. It was one of the more easy decisions he’d made in quite some time.

‘How do you feel about being an aunt?’

‘I would make a really good aunt,’ she told him solemnly. ‘Alas, I have no siblings.’

‘I have three. And one very pregnant sister-in-law. I figure that if I get in good with her she might let me borrow the kid from time to time. You could tag along.’

Her eyes warmed. ‘You’re kind of perfect. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.’

They made it to Lena’s for drinks that afternoon, but only just.

And it wasn’t because of sailing boats and contrary winds.

Rowan left late Sunday night, and Jared let her be for three days while he tinkered with the yacht.

He wasn’t the only one feeling the tyranny of distance when it came to relationships. Trig was back at work in Canberra—a mere twelve-hour drive from the farmhouse—and although his sister was fiercely independent, there was no denying that Lena was missing her husband.

‘We could go visit them,’ she said on Wednesday afternoon over the phone. ‘Do you still have your private pilot’s licence?’

‘I haven’t flown for two years. I’ll need a review.’

‘Good thing I kept mine up to date, then.’

‘Brat. Do we still have a plane?’

‘We do.’

‘Does it go?’ Keeping the Cessna flight-ready had once been his task—back before Antonov.

‘Of course it goes. What good are toys if you can’t use them?’ Lena paused. ‘So what do you think? Want to go to Canberra? Because I think midweek visits to people we care about are important.’

‘I think you’re right.’

Rowan liked Thursdays—and never more so than when a blue-eyed devil rang her at six-thirty, while she was still at work, and asked her to dinner that night.

‘Why aren’t you at the beach house?’ she wanted to know.

‘Lena decided to implement a must-see-Trig-midweek-and-have-dinner-with-him policy. She also has a plane, so we flew down.’

‘You people …’

‘You’re not going to talk carbon footprints, are you?’

‘No, I was going to stick with a comment about obscene wealth instead, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s good to hear from you.’

‘And dinner this evening? I know it’s short notice.’

It was. Rowan eyed the number of case updates still open on her taskbar, all of which needed to be read and signed off on. Tonight.

‘What if I bring dinner to you?’ he said into her silence. ‘How late do you have to work?’

‘Can you give me another hour and a half? After which time I will be well and truly ready to leave.’

‘You want me to pick you up?’

‘Or you could meet me at my place with food in hand. There would be huge brownie points earned. Enormous. There could be vanilla bean and shaved chocolate ice cream for dessert.’

‘Do I need to bring the ice cream as well?’

‘No, there’s some in the freezer.’

‘I’ll meet you there,’ he said. And hung up.

There was a lot to be said for walking towards the glass-walled lobby of her apartment block and finding a beautiful man waiting for her with a bag full of takeaway food dangling from his fingers.

She watched those fingers tighten as she walked towards him, watched him catalogue everything about her—from the shoes she wore to the colour of her lipstick.

She wondered if he saw what she saw. A woman of average height and mediocre looks. A woman who—on a personal level—people rarely waited around for.

The closer she got the better he looked. The smell of delicious food wafted towards her, mixing and mingling with the faintest scent of him as she leaned in to brush her lips against his face, first one cheek and then the other.

His gaze lingered on her lips for a satisfyingly long time after she drew back, the thrumming stillness of his body a sign that he’d liked her greeting a lot.

He liked her lips—she remembered that.

Gave thanks for that.

They got in the elevator and she pressed the button for the top floor. He didn’t crowd her. He just watched.

‘Come on in,’ she murmured when finally she opened the door to her apartment, more than a little curious as to what he would make of her home.

Neutral colours for the walls and a pale wooden floor, richer caramels and ivory colours for the bigger furniture items. No knick-knacks … a couple of family photos. She liked colour, and had added it in the form of cushions and throw rugs, the textures soft and inviting. The views from the windows were of the surrounding cityscape and nothing special. None of it was special.

This place hadn’t been designed with looking outward in mind. This place was for curling up in, intimate and engulfing. The hotel apartment he’d taken her to had been bigger and better outfitted.

‘It isn’t much. One bedroom, a couple of bathrooms, one study and this space. I’ve never—’

He followed her through to the kitchen and set the food on the counter. ‘Never what?’

She was for ever revealing her innermost thoughts to him. ‘I don’t entertain here much.’

‘It’s your cave,’ he murmured. ‘I get it. And I’m flattered that I got an invitation. No pressure, okay? You want me to leave—just show me the door.’

‘I don’t want you to leave.’ And it wasn’t just because the food containers he’d started lining up on the kitchenette bench held so much promise. ‘Is that pork belly with plum sauce on the side, green beans and mashed potatoes from my second favourite restaurant?’

She might have been guilty of telling him about the dish on the weekend and waxing lyrical.

‘It is. When did you last eat?’

Rowan rubbed at the frown between her eyes. ‘Maybe around eleven?’

‘And you started when? Six?’

She nodded, and he speared her with a penetrating glance.

‘Work. Sleep. Eat. Play. Balance, Ro. Haven’t you ever heard of it?’

‘Says the man who up until a couple of weeks ago lived his work twenty-four-seven. Undercover.’

‘And I have learned my lesson.’

She dumped a handful of serving spoons on the counter and he picked one up and started dishing food out.

‘More potato?’

‘Yes. Always yes to that question. How long are you here for?’

‘We’ll leave again tomorrow night and take Trig with us for the weekend. You too, if you want?’

Rowan hesitated. Much as she wanted to, her dance card was already full. ‘Sorry. I’m on call. And I have a date with an octogenarian.’

‘Your grandfather?’

‘You should meet him. I think you’d like him.’

Jared stilled, and then carefully, casually, continued serving.

‘I saw that hesitation,’ she murmured. ‘Too soon to talk of having you meet my favourite person?’

‘No, I— It wasn’t that.’ It was as close to a mumble as he ever got. ‘You said I should meet him and I instantly thought yes. Which gave me pause—because normally there is a pause while I try to figure out how to say no thanks.’

‘You probably only want to meet him because he’s a retired general who owns a pet tortoise called Veronica.’

‘Veronica, huh?’

‘You should probably compliment the General on her superbly patterned shell. He’s very proud of her.’

‘I have absolutely no idea whether you’re setting me up or not.’ His smile warmed her. ‘But I like it. Where are we eating? Bench or table?’

‘Table.’

He really was deliciously easy to accommodate. They sat and ate, and Rowan tried not to bolt her food, but it was so good, and— Oh.

‘What would you like to drink?’ So much for her skills as a hostess.

‘Relax. I’ll get it.’

He came back with soda water for both of them and she looked at the drinks and grimaced in embarrassment. Soda water, still water or milk had been his only choices.

‘I really wasn’t expecting you tonight. If I had I would have magically arranged for my fridge to be fuller.’

He smiled, slow and contented. ‘I really don’t care if your fridge is full or not.’

So there was that, and his apparent ease with her living arrangements, and a slow-building heat that made her wonder whether it would be appropriate to push her meal aside, crawl across the table and feast on him.

Instead, she chose small talk. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Racing speedboats and thinking about my future. Last time I decided on a career path I didn’t think of anything beyond superficialities.’

‘All the pretty toys?’ she murmured.

‘Exactly.’ He speared a pork square and offered it to her—and who was she to refuse? ‘These days I’m older, wiser and more searching. I want to feel useful. Money isn’t a necessity. I thrive on adrenalin and I’m narrowing down options.’

‘What kind of options?’

‘Banking. The family business. It’d make my father happy and the stock exchange pit might suit me.’

She studied him in silence.

‘No comment?’

‘Maybe as a short-term career option, sure …’

His smile turned wry. ‘You think I’d get bored?’

‘You said it yourself. You’re not money-focused. You need a cause.’

‘I had a cause once. It was corrupt.’

‘Not all of it.’

‘Enough to give me pause. I don’t want to go to work each day and have to decide who’s going to betray me today and who’s not. I don’t know how you do it. The politics and the conniving. The lack of loyalty.’

‘It’s not that bad. The politics and the conniving—I’m good at it. As for the loyalty … Well …’ Maybe she was simply used to rolling with betrayal. ‘I know what you could do,’ she began. ‘What about something along the lines of what your brother does? Cyber information acquisition? Ask him who’s hiring.’

Jared eyed her with a frown. ‘Not my thrill.’

‘What about physical retrieval?’

‘Of what?’

‘Anything. Do your homework when it comes to who wants what and why. Pick and choose your jobs carefully. You call the shots.’

He stared at her for a good long while. ‘Maybe.’

‘It’d suit your lifestyle.’

‘And what lifestyle is that?’

‘Plenty of action, plenty of travel. No time to get bored because every job would be different.’

‘And if I wanted to forgo the travel and stick a little closer to home?’

‘Is that what you want?’

He’d surprised her. Again. But then, when had he ever not?

‘Yeah. My gut says it’s time to settle down. Choose a place and make it home.’

‘And what does your gut say about you flying in to have takeaway dinner with a woman who can’t even keep a meal in her house?’

‘My gut says the food’s good and yours is the company I want.’ His voice had gone all raspy. ‘I wanted to see you, Ro. Touch base. Something like that.’

She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

‘Touch base or just touch? Are you having trouble sleeping again?’ Maybe that was why he was here. Maybe he needed the kind of release she’d given him at the apartment.

‘I’m sleeping well enough.’ His voice had husked out. ‘I don’t need you to tie me up.’

‘Really not a problem if you did.’ She put it out there. ‘I enjoyed it.’

Hell, she’d loved it.

He shrugged again—only this time it was an invitation if ever she’d seen one.

‘Not this time.’ His eyes had gone dark. ‘Stop trying to give me what you think I came here for, Ro. Stop trying to fix me as if I’m broken. Nor is it your job to direct me towards a solution. Otherwise I’m going to start thinking you’re still at work.’

‘How am I directing you?’ she asked indignantly. ‘I’ve done no directing at all tonight! ‘

‘No? Then why is the focus all on me and my problems? On what I might need and how I might arrange my life? I didn’t bring those topics up, Ro. You did. You’re still looking at me as if I’m one of your problems to be solved.’

‘No.’ Was he right? Was she still in work mode? ‘I—Maybe I—’

‘Yes?’ he enquired silkily.

Well, hell. Rowan sat back in her chair and stared at him. Had she still been in work mode? Half of her trying to figure out what he needed so that she could provide support? The other half assuming that he couldn’t possibly be there simply because he’d wanted her company. Just her company—nothing more.

‘I’m interested in you and I make no apology for some of my questions,’ she offered finally. ‘How else will I know what’s going on in your life if I don’t ask? But maybe I do need to ease out of work mode a little more—stop trying to offer up solutions and just … relax now that I’m home. It’ll happen. The relaxation part. Any minute now. I’m almost sure of it.’

‘Uh-huh?’ He loaded up his fork with potato. ‘Eat your dinner, Rowan. And then we’ll set about seeing what it takes to get you to unwind.’

Rowan filled her mouth with food—it seemed like the best course of action—and at some point during the meal Jared’s leg kicked into hers and stayed there.

Not unwinding.

He told her about Lena and Ruby ganging up on him and insisting that mustard was not an appropriate colour for the interior of a yacht. He made her laugh, but he looked at her with an intensity that made it impossible to relax. How was a person supposed to relax into that?

‘Would you like ice cream now?’ she asked when they’d cleared their plates. ‘I’ll just get—’

‘No, you won’t. Stay.’ He eyed her sternly and took the plates to the dishwasher. ‘Do you even want ice cream after that? Or is it just something else to offer your guest?’

‘I sometimes have ice cream after dinner.’

‘Do you want some tonight?’

She was tempted to prove him wrong and say yes—but she’d be lying. She didn’t have to stay sitting at the table like a lump, though. It was her kitchen. The least she could do was help tidy it.

But he blocked her way and there was pure challenge in his eyes when he murmured, ‘It’s done, Rowan, and it really doesn’t need any final check-up.’

‘You think I’m a control freak?’

‘I think we’re about to find out. Would you like me to tell you what kind of sex I’d like tonight?’

‘Um …’ Could be a test. ‘Your call.’

‘Good answer.’ He was advancing on her, backing her against the wall, boxing her in with his arms either side of her and his body heat licking at her senses. ‘If you want me to leave, tell me now.’

The best answer to that was silence.

‘I want to make you forget your own name tonight,’ he murmured. ‘You good with that?’

‘Well, you can try. Are you waiting for permission?’

Her tone would probably have been a lot more challenging had he not been dragging his lips over her neck at the time. Because all she could manage as his tongue got in on the act was a whimper.

By the time he got around to kissing her lips she had her eyes closed and her hands palms to the wall for fear of burying them in his hair and directing him where she wanted him to go. And then he coaxed her shirt up over her head, and when her arms fell they fell to his shoulders.

He didn’t need any direction when it came to getting his shirt off, or her trousers either. No direction at all as he picked her up as if she weighed next to nothing, his hands on her buttocks, his strong fingers curling under and around to tease at the edges of her panties.

She was so wet for him. The minute he touched her he would know, if he didn’t already, that all he had to do was put his hands on her and she was halfway to gone.

And then his fingers skated across the slick she was making for him, and he growled and slammed her back into the wall, coaxing her legs to open around him—and, oh, that worked for her. She spread her legs wider, rocking up into that teasing hardness, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she would like more of that.

‘Please …’ she whispered into his mouth as she wound her arms around his neck and held on.

Denim rasped against her as she ground up onto him—hard.

‘Please. I won’t break. Anything you want.’

She wanted to feel his thickness inside her so that she didn’t have to clench around nothing. She wanted the burn that came of trying to swallow him whole.

And then he took her to the counter, hooked his fingers through her panties and pulled them off. He unzipped himself next and pushed his boxers down. He took himself in hand, his eyes almost black as he breached her—just a little. Nothing more than a promise that soon … soon he would fill her up.

He opened her mouth with his thumb next. She sucked it in and got it good and wet before pulling back to nip at the knuckle. There. All done. Good job.

He was still toying with her, not giving her nearly enough of his length, and he toyed with her some more as he put his thumb to her centre and rubbed, finding exactly the right spot.

She bit her lip to stop herself from keening, but some sound escaped and his gaze, which had been fixed elsewhere, met hers.

‘There? Is that good?’

He knew it was.

His next kiss was filthy—all grazing teeth and demanding tongue.

She was riding the ragged edge of desperation, and he knew she wanted more, but he made her wait even as he built her slowly, inexorably towards climax.

She slapped one hand behind her on the counter for leverage, the better to lift her hips up and forward. Greedy … so greedy … for more pressure from his thumb and an inch or seven more. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have them to give.

He slid into her a little more—huge, hard and so welcome she could hardly stand it. Almost there … almost.

‘What do you want?’

His rumbled words licked at her as she bucked forward and she gained another inch of him, and then cried out her frustration when he wouldn’t let her have any more.

But she wasn’t going to direct him this time. She didn’t always have to call the shots. Sometimes she wanted more than anything to ditch that responsibility and have someone call them for her.

‘Anything,’ she whispered. ‘Whatever you want.’

‘Good.’ He sheathed himself all the way inside her with one mercifully hard thrust. ‘Come.’