A Fine Balance Page 11

He hit the brakes, threw the car into reverse, shot backwards and brought the SUV to a lurching stop out of sight of the driveway. Then he dropped his head on the steering wheel and quietly swore.

  Jillian had seen the car, witnessed Jack’s reaction, understood no matter who it was, he didn’t want to see her. After that high speed retreat, there was no doubt in her mind it was one of his women friends. And for a fleeting moment she thought about swearing too because thanks to the murderously handsome, hard-bodied Jack Morgan she was feverishly aroused, melting inside, overwrought and damn near ready to push the panic button. “Now what?” she said instead of swearing, although the tenor of her voice was definitely cranky.

  His head came up in a flash and before he’d even swung his glance her way, he discarded the numerous excuses that had been racing through his brain. He knew that tone of voice in a woman. It required solutions. Not that he had any workable ones at the moment. Liz wasn’t likely to be dislodged from his bed without offending both women and Jillian’s house was too far away. “I’m really sorry,” he said, more sorry than he’d been in a very long time. Years in fact. “But this isn’t going to work out today. Are you going to be all right?” He didn’t know her well enough to be explicit, although her flushed face suggested she wasn’t going to be all right for a while at least.

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t move. She scarcely breathed.

  Crap. What were the odds that Liz had the day off when she never did?

  “I don’t suppose that’s your cleaning lady’s car.”

  He overlooked the bordering-on-bitchy tone because the flame-hot heat in her eyes stole his breath away. He shook his head.

  The sudden silence was thick with nerves.

  “Does this happen often?”

  High-strung, unstrung, it was hard to tell. He forced himself to breath. “No, never. I swear.” Not in the daytime at least. “It won’t happen again.” Crisp and sure; a decision made he wouldn’t have made two days ago.

  Her eyebrows twitched, then her mouth and flashing moment later the tiniest smile erased her frown. “I feel awfully foolish–snapping at you like this is your fault although I suppose it is in a way–not that it’s any business of mine. Anyway”–her smile ticked up a notch--“chalk it up to frustration after three years of celibacy.”

  You really shouldn’t say things like that, he thought, tamping down a ramming speed impulse to end her celibacy on the spot–manners be damned. But he wanted more, whatever that meant–not yet willing to admit to anything other than that he liked women and sex. So he pleasantly said, “Don’t feel foolish. This is entirely my fault. As for being disappointed”–he grinned--“I’ll match you there and raise you a couple million degrees. And if it would help to apologize, I would as many times as you want.”

  “Maybe if you gave me something else as many times as I want, it would please me more.”

  Her smile was sweet, guileless; he’d never been asked so nicely. “I could do that,” he murmured.

  “But not now.”

  “Probably not unless...you’d like me to”–he stopped. “I mean there’s other ways to–er--take the edge off.”

  She laughed. He’d not heard her laugh before. “You’re embarrassed,” she said.

  “Not really. I just don’t know you very well.” He half lifted his hand. “And we’re on a semi-public road, but it’s up to you. It’s pretty hard to embarrass me.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “How hard?”

  “Real hard,” he murmured, his sideways glance amused. “Impossible in fact, so don’t mess with me unless you mean it.”

  “So this public road isn’t a deterrent?”

  “Not much.” He tapped the window beside him. “Black.” His smile was wicked. “Nice back seat. What’d you say?”

  “If not for your girlfriend possibly driving by, I’d be tempted.”

  “She’s not a girlfriend.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “Yeah, she does.” He fired up the car then because he didn’t know where this conversation was going, but wherever it went, he’d prefer not having Liz drive by while it was occurring.

  “How grim you sound.”

  He shot her a surprised look, took his hand off the shift lever. “I didn’t mean to. Probably just frustration--seeing how I had plans for you and me. Seriously botched at the moment.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Anytime.”

  She reached out and touched his hand laying on the console, her fingers hot on his skin, her voice half breathless again. “Anytime?”

  “Swear to God,” he politely said, although his brain was saying now, now, now and he was mentally tossing everything off the back seat. “You decide when and where.”

  “Maybe you could drive somewhere less conspicuous,” she whispered, the tremor in her voice open-sesame to his jet-fueled lust, her offer like that first drug rush to an addict.

  Hotspur and audacious, he abruptly twisted sideways, leaned across the console, took her face between his palms and kissed like he’d been wanting to kiss her ever since he first saw her. He should have been more gentle. A day, an hour, twenty minutes ago, he might have been, but he’d been restraining himself for a long time.

  He felt her shock, swallowed her muffled little squeak, forced her mouth open, crammed his tongue down her throat and ravaged her mouth like some wild, horny brute. Then he suddenly dropped his hands, swung back behind the wheel, swiftly accelerated in reverse until he reached his neighbor’s driveway, veered sharply left, dropped the shift into drive and punched the accelerator.

  Wade lived in town.

  “Sorry,” he said, overtaking a slow moving car at high speed, passing it on the narrow shore road. “That was inexcusable. You can tell me to go to hell if you wish. I wouldn’t blame you.” What he didn’t say was that it wasn’t likely to change his plans.

  “Where are you going?”

  Good. That small fever in her voice didn’t sound like indignation or affront. “I’m taking you somewhere I can hold you.”

  “And?” A breathy request.

  “And all the rest too.” He smiled. “So put in your order.”

  “I’m not sure I know what to order.” The merest wisp of sound.

  It was the most provocative, sexually charged statement he’d ever heard or maybe it was just the tremulousness in Jillian’s voice that brought a fresh surge of blood to his cock. “Why don’t I help you with that?” he softly said, surprised by the startling eroticism of innocence.

  He’d lived too long in a corrupt world.

  He’d forgotten virtue existed.

  As for innocence, he’d never encountered it with sex.

  It was inspiring.

  Chapter 18

  Wade was on the phone when the text ping went off on his cell.

  Since he was listening to a client’s all-too-familiar harangue on PG&E’s overreach, he had time to check the message.

  Don’t go home.

  Jack

  Hmmm. Curious. Why wasn’t Jack’s house available? “No, they can’t,” Wade said, picking up on the conversation. “No, no way. It’s personal property.” As if he hadn’t explained the statute at least a dozen times to Rick Crawford. “Uh-huh. Right. That’s what I said.” After a few minutes more of the same, he decided he’d been polite long enough. “Sorry, Rick, I’ve another call I have to take. And relax. Everything’s taken care of.”

  Wade was smiling as he set down the receiver. He’d lost out on the venue. Who’d have thought? But he’d definitely won on the time table. Ray had picked next week. As for Jack using his house–he guessed some woman must have been at his. It probably wasn’t Kate with her schedule. However, Jack had an open door policy when it came to visitors and he’d had his share of female visitors since he’d come home.

  Wade’s house was on the north side of the Headlands–a modern version of a salt box, grey, weathered wood, lots of glass. Set on a slight elevation, it commanded views
of the Point Cabrillo light house, the ocean and the Headland’s grassy meadows. As for neighbors, Wade’s three acres afforded him some privacy, but as additional safeguard, Jack parked in back behind a stand of cypress and shore pines.

  When Jack opened her door, Jillian smiled. “Are we hiding?”

  “Sort of. It’s a pain when everyone knows you.”

  “Maybe you live too exciting a life.”

  “It’s not exciting, believe me. My work is mostly dealing with drunks, guys with too many guns and drunken guys with too many guns. Watch your step.” He pointed at a tangle of tree roots underfoot.

  After navigating the rough ground, she glanced at the line of huge, gnarled conifers slanted sharply eastward, a few hundred years of winds off the ocean contributing to their distinctive tilt. “What beautiful old trees.”

  “You’ve got some too.”

  “Not this old. Mine were planted when the settlers came.” A clipper ship from China had run aground two years after the gold rush began. Salvage crews arriving from San Francisco had discovered the ancient redwoods. Within months a score of sawmills were in operation, then towns sprang up and the rest was history.

  “I think Wade figured these are from Columbus’s time. He’s the nature lover in the family.” Jack ushered her in through the back door. “This is his house in case you were wondering.”

  “Was that who you texted?”

  He nodded.

  “So we shouldn’t be interrupted.”

  “Nope.”

  She came to a stop in the kitchen. “I’m going to sound like a schoolteacher now and I apologize in advance, but I have to ask. Er–that is”–she tried to fight back the flush rising on her cheeks–“I mean”--

  “I’ll find some,” he helpfully interposed.

  She sighed. “Lord, I’m out of practice.”

  “Don’t worry.” He didn’t say he’d had quite a lot of practice lately. Instead, he took her hand and dipped his head. “This way.”

  Wade’s bedroom had a glass window wall facing the ocean, the view all dramatic rocky cliffs and crashing waves.

  “Ohmygod!” Jillian abruptly stopped, her eyes wide in wonder.

  Jack smiled, wondering if he might elicit equal wonder in bed. She was paradoxically--delightfully naive and flagrantly sensual, like a sloe-eyed enchantress in Disneyland. “You like it?”

  She swung around, her gaze startling direct, her smile winsome. “I like everything today.”

  Her velvety tone did predictable things to his libido and his smile in contrast was roguish. “Is this where I say, there’ll be more to like in a few minutes?”

  She laughed. “And is this when I say, why so long?”

  “Perfect.” His grip was feather light on her arms as he drew her near, his lips lighter still as they brushed hers and as she softly moaned, their bodies met, hers lithe and yielding, his hard and impatient and flame hot desire spiked through their senses.

  A brief silence passed while he debated his options with the long abstinent Ms. Penrose.

  She whimpered.

  A cue of sorts. Moving back a step, he released her to another small whimper, grasped the bottom of her sweater and murmured, “Lift your arms.”

  She did, her breathing unsteady.

  His wasn’t any too steady either a moment later as he contemplated the spectacular vision of her plump, shapely breasts held aloft by sheer white lace clearly straining under its burden.

  “Now you,” she whispered, reaching out, tracing her finger up the sleek, black fabric of his shirt, his hard muscled chest solid beneath her touch.

  His attention shifted back to the here and now and with a quick jerk of his arm, he pulled his shirt up over the back of his head and dropped it on the floor.

  She shivered at the sudden lurid display of male virility–buff, toned, heavy duty muscle only inches away. One shouldn’t compare. It wasn’t right. Yet, he was so flagrantly powerful in contrast to Ben’s lean, runner’s body. Commanding. With an animal grace that was slightly intimidating. And gloriously sexual. No, no, stop! she silently chastised. “Don’t be juvenile! She wasn’t fifteen; he certainly wasn’t. Deliberately re-directing her thoughts, she swung her finger from one tattooed arm to the other, tried to suppress her frenzied response to the half-nude Jack Morgan and didn’t quite succeed. “Why do you hide those under long-sleeve shirts?”

  He’d seen her shiver, heard the small tremor in her voice, knew they were both on the same runaway train. “I don’t always. But some people are curious. It saves explanations.” He spoke calmly. In his job, self-discipline was a well-honed skill.

  “They’re not local designs.” There. That was better. She didn’t want to embarrass herself by melting into a puddle at his feet.

  “No, I had them done in Kyoto.” A small pause; how much did he want to reveal or even talk anymore for that matter. On the other hand, she was agitated, not quite ready, so he kept the conversation going. “After my divorce I needed, among other things, space, distance...whatever.” He shrugged. “So I spent a month in Kyoto having these inked. The pain kept my brain distracted.”

  “I can sympathize. A distraction would have been welcome when I was taking care of my dying mother and a new baby.” She suddenly flicked her fingers in a brushing away motion as if physically dismissing the morbid thoughts. “Carpe diem is my rule today,” she briskly said, conjuring up a smile. “No past, no future. So are we focused?”

  “Oh, yeah.” His smile was instant, warm, full of charm. “Not just today but pretty much every minute since I met you.”

  “How sweet.”

  He grinned. “Not even close. Just single-minded.”

  This time her smile was genuine, all sunshine and blue skies. She tapped her wrist watch. “Tick tock.”

  He laughed, swept her up into his arms with an effortless strength and strode toward the bed. “Lucky I can perform on cue.”

  “Somehow I knew you could. Don’t look at me like that. It’s a compliment.”

  It always threw him when she spoke in that schoolteacher tone. “How long did you teach?”

  “Too long apparently,” she said with a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes. “I apologize.”

  He chuckled. “Culture shock.”

  “I hope it won’t be an obstacle,” she teased.

  “There ain’t no mountain high enough, Babe.”

  “Oh, good. Me too.”

  He liked how she said, Me too, in that open, artless way. How refreshing she was. It almost made him believe in the concept of happiness. Although the happiness he currently had in mind was of a distinctly physical nature. The word single-minded hadn’t just come off the top of his head. Deftly unhooking her bra as he carried her, he gently placed her on Wade’s king-sized bed.

  Slipping her arms free, she tossed the scrap of white lace aside, gazed up at him from under the fringe of her lashes and gently arched her back. “You’re good. Smooth. I like that.”

  Whether her sensuous pose was deliberate or unintentional, her sumptuous breasts were raised high, her rosy nipples turgid and swollen and he was thinking his good and her good might be different. “Thanks,” he said, a slight tautness to the words. His dream come to life was doing a number on his good intentions, the thought of ripping off the rest of her clothes and jumping her almost irresistible.

  “He looks really good too.” Reaching out, she pressed her palm against the bulge in his jeans--her focus, like his, intensely personal.

  He sucked in a breath. “Better not do that.” He gently removed her hand. “We’ve been thinking about this too long. He’s barely in check.”

  “Good. Because I’m not in the market for restraint.” At which point, she kicked off her shoes, slid the zipper down on her slacks and started shoving them down her hips. “Do we have to worry about this quilt?”

  He was still trying to curb the brute impulses fueled by her remark about restraint or the lack thereof so it took him a fraction of a second to pro
cess her question. A quilt? As if. “No, don’t worry,” he said, already stripping off his jeans and boxers, thinking Game on and Thank you God and warning himself she’d been three years celibate so take it easy.

  It turned out he was faster than she or maybe just more motivated; he helped her finish undressing. Dropping her slacks and panties on a chair, he quickly went through the drawers on Wade’s bedside table, came up with some condoms and ripped one open. Intent on speed and execution, he didn’t hear her small gasp. But when he swiveled back to the bed, he recognized that foreplay wasn’t in the cards.

  She was trembling, her thighs slightly parted, the pearly essence gilding her sex evidence of her impatience. “If you don’t mind,” she said, breathy and low, her heated gaze on his up thrust erection. “I need you badly.” Every long dormant sexual receptor was revving up big time. “And even if you do mind, I don’t really care,” she crisply added.

  Ah–the official schoolteacher voice again, although for some reason it struck him as perversely arousing this time. Not that he was in the mood for psychoanalysis with his erection twitching against his stomach and an incredible woman asking for unbridled sex. “No problem,” he murmured, jettisoning issues of perversity, lowering himself between her legs in a fluid drift of muscle and sinew. “I couldn’t wait even if you’d asked.” He could have, but for how long was the question since fucking Ms. Penrose had been a major priority for days. “Now if you don’t mind,” he softly mimicked, “if I go crazy, bite me or hit me or something. I might notice.”

  She heard rather than saw the smile that underlay his words, her eyes half shut against the feverish ache pulsing inside her. “You talk too much,” she peevishly said, the last syllable dying away in a low, rapturous sigh as he entered her slowly, slowly, ever so slowly–so she felt every impressionable, tactile contact, so the divine, awesome, hugeness of his rock-hard erection slid gradually deeper and deeper, stretching her taut, so every high-pressure silken millimeter of penetration jolted her overwrought senses, caressed her slick, quivering tissue, provoked, goaded, stirred her passions to an all-consuming, flame-hot urgency.