Homecoming (9 page)

Okay, she could do this. Taking a quick breath, Wiley gulped her liquor, squared her shoulders and then straddled him. Closing her eyes, she aimed for his cheek. Any second she was going to go up in flames from the heat of her blush.

Jasmine was dead!

But her lips didn’t land on his cheek. A mouth gave softly under her lips, and he truly had to have great reflexes to have gotten it there in time. His hand came up and cupped her cheek; a butterflies’ caress.

She forgot why she was in a hurry, forgot they had an audience. For one aching moment, it was just the two of them, alone.

When Wiley finally slid off of Jayems’ lap, she was clumsy with more than alcohol. She knocked her chair sideways as she sat down.

Jasmine laughed as she helped set it to rights.

Then she lost.

“Huh,” she said. She reached for her drink, in no hurry to pay up.

Before her fingers could close around it, Keilor grabbed it. With a glint in his eye, he toasted her. “I’d hate for your senses to be dulled for this, Dragonfly.”

Wiley was too embarrassed to look. They took their time about it.

Maybe Jayems felt the same thing, or maybe he took pity on her, for he finally said, “Do you think we should leave him to her mercy or have pity and toss water on them?”

She heard Keilor groan, then the sound of Jasmine fumbling for her chair.

The men stole several more kisses before the game was over, and Wiley couldn’t even hide behind a liquor haze. Jayems and Keilor kept stealing her and Jasmine’s drinks, claiming chivalry. Unfortunately, they didn’t fall into a stupor, either. In fact, the liquor had little noticeable effect on them.

“You must be cheating,” Jasmine muttered, eyeing the pile of shells in front of their opponents. Keilor raised the bet and Jayems folded. Wiley was already out, and Jasmine couldn’t cover the bet.

Wiley had never been so glad to finish a game in her life. The moment Jasmine left, she slunk off and hid in her room. Unfortunately, she knew that Jayems wouldn’t leave her alone for long. He was determined to see her change every night--doctor’s orders!--and he wouldn’t believe she’d do it if left in the privacy of her room. Determined to save face, she acted like she was in need of some reading material and went to check out Jayems’ extensive book shelves.

She’d been strictly a cable girl herself and had rarely picked up a book back home. She’d seen Jayems reading in his library from time to time, settled in one of the two leather chairs. Ottomans were positioned in front of each chair, and end tables on each side held lamps for when the daylight faded. The shelves were behind the chair and lined three walls. A handsome rug warmed that corner of the wooden floor.

She hadn’t had an interest in exploring that section of the room before. Now she looked at the polished red bookshelves in some surprise. Every book was handsomely bound, and many of them had gilt lettering. Normally that was a turnoff for her, because she always figured those kind of books were boring old classics. Deprived of her TV, however, she was willing to investigate closer.

A book on the side table caught her eye, and she picked it up. It was titled, “Her First Time.” Her jaw went slack. Glancing to make certain Jayems wasn’t in the room, she hastily set it down and moved to the shelves, blankly studied the spines.

It was a few moments before she actually read the titles. He’d been thinking about her first time? Their first time? Flames licked her cheeks. Her first experience with the opposite sex had happened years ago, and she’d had her fair share since. Was he thinking of her first time graduating to full-blown sex?

With a shiver, she tried to put it out of her mind, but she kept flashing back to it.

Curiosity was eating at her. What was in that book?

With an effort, she made herself focus on the other titles in front of her. He had books on negotiating, battle tactics, history, agriculture … boring. Didn’t the man read any fiction? There was a book on stained glass working that looked mildly interesting, but she kept scanning the shelves, hoping for something more enticing. Her search was rewarded. There, right in the middle of his shelves at eye level, was an entire shelf of books devoted to lovemaking.

Wiley’s eyes boggled as she read the titles.
An Illustrated Guide to the Sensual Arts. A Woman’s Climax. Emotional Need and the Sensual Virgin.
There were dozens of titles.

Holy Hannah! What was the man, some kind of gigolo? She started to wonder if the book on the table was a new book or an old favorite. Certainly he’d started his collection long before she’d entered the picture.

Disturbed to see him as a sensual being, considering the restraint he’d shown

around her most of the time, she backed off. Maybe she’d be better off going straight to bed after all.

He was there, behind her. His gaze took in her expression and shifted to the shelves behind her. He raised a curious brow. “Something disturbs you?”

Oh, he was bold. A surge of annoyance made her cross her arms. “Well, yeah. It’s a little disturbing to find I’ve been locked in with a skirt chaser.”

“A skirt chaser?”

She tipped her head at the books behind her. “Your bookshelf reads like
National Pornographic
.”

He smiled. “You sound jealous.”

“I’m not! I’m just wondering how many women are going to be running around here.” She was defensive and knew it, but she wasn’t jealous. Of course, that meant she was righteous instead, and that didn’t sound good, either.

“One. You.” He drifted a step closer. “Are you curious what I learned from my books?”

“No.” She tried to sound firm, but she was interested. Those kisses of his had been unusual, unlike any she’d had before. Her boyfriends had always been in a hurry; Jayems liked to linger. That kind of thing could get addictive. “You come off as some kind of cool dignitary, and here you are reading smut in the evenings!”

He moved closer. “Is knowing how to please a woman a crime? Is wanting to?

Should I take my pleasure and leave her none?”

These were tricky questions, and it was getting hard to think. She was sure he was doing it on purpose. “That’s not the point! You’re some kind of playboy. Admit it!”

“I’m not playing with you,” he said, closing the space between them. He put his arms around her, loose enough not to make her fight, but firm enough to make his point.

One hand began to stroke her hip, distracting, enticing.

She raised her arms to hold him off, but there was no strength in them. “Stop.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, but that shouldn’t matter when a woman says stop,” she said with an edge to her voice.

“You’re right,” he whispered against her lips. He released her.

Now that she was free, she didn’t know where to go. To her room? Her legs wouldn’t move.

Smoke gathered in his eyes. “I have an idea … something I can teach you from my books. With this, I won’t even touch you.”

Curiosity would be her undoing. Or was it him? “What?” she said warily.

“The power of scent,” he said softly, drawing in a breath by her ear.

She shivered.

“Our senses are so much more than sight and sound and touch,” he murmured next to her neck, raising chill bumps with his breath. “Seduction is also the perfume of flowers in a woman’s hair, the warm scent of her skin, the soap she uses to cleanse her body.” He sank slowly to his knee while he talked, his eyes half closed as if in bliss. “I can smell the change in fabric from your shirt to your pants, the musk of the leather belt riding your waist, and more …” He knelt in front of her now and drew in a deep breath.

Slowly, his eyes opened, and he looked up at her through his lashes. “I can even smell your desire.”

Riveted, she stared at him. Sweat broke out on her skin, and he closed his eyes as if savoring the scent. Desire pulsed in her blood, made her fingertips itch to touch him.

Oh, he was good … and that was his undoing.

She stepped back, bumping her hip on the chair as she went. Scrambling around it, she eased toward her room, away from him. He didn’t move, just watched her back away from him.

“I … I’m not one of your women,” she said, unable to look away.

He just looked at her.

“I’m not going to let you do this,” she whispered. She got another two paces.

“My bed is that way,” he said simply, and rose. Moving as if he were the master of time itself, he walked toward his room, pulling his shirt over his head as he walked. He tossed it in the open door and unbuckled his belt. With the door still open, he stripped out of the rest of his clothes as casually as if she weren’t looking.

There was a lot to see.

He pulled back the covers and got into bed, then picked up a book. Opening the cover, he began to read.

Wiley blinked, but it didn’t clear her head. The light gleamed off his chest, reflecting shadows as he turned the page, illuminating every line of muscle. He’d wound her so tight, his every move was pure temptation.

As if her body weighed a thousand pounds, she turned and slowly walked to her room. It was like a nightmare where she wanted to run, but was unable. If she went in that door, she was going to become a wife.

She couldn’t be a wife. She couldn’t.

* * * *

Jayems watched her slow retreat. Not tonight then, but soon.

Her mother had come.

Wiley watched the huge double doors open to the family banquet hall and tried to control her breathing. She wasn’t ready for this.

Jayems had sprung it on her that morning, told her that her mother was arriving that evening like he was handing her a gift. She’d gone ballistic, cursing him for not giving her more notice, cursing her mother for--she still didn’t want to think about it.

It was Jasmine who’d talked sense into her. Jas had faced her own mother, an abusive addict, when she was still in her teens. The interview had not gone well, but it was behind her now, and at least she’d had the courage to face it. “Just get it over with,”

she’d advised Wiley.

Jasmine stood at her side now, silently supportive, and led the way into the room.

She might be a dreamer, but sometimes she had ten times the courage Wiley would ever have.

The room was decorated in simple elegance, as were the people inside. She searched the faces of the two older women there and had a bad moment. Neither of them were familiar. The fading brunette was soft and chubby, her flesh plumped around her many rings, and her purple and burnt orange gown draped around her like a high-priced dust cover. A platinum blonde stood at her side, slim and elegant in a pale yellow, grecian inspired gown. Gold clips held her gown together at the shoulders, elbows and wrists, and blue, red and yellow ribbon trimmed her hem and the wine red sash around her waist. Sprays of yellow and white flowers, fashioned of diamonds, flashed in her upswept braids. A matching necklace circled her neck. Her sky-blue eyes were alive with emotion and wet with tears.

The queenly lady glided forward, her gaze devouring Wiley’s face. Her voice was hoarse when she whispered, “Daughter?” Without warning she threw herself in Wiley’s arms, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Rihlia. You’ve come home.”

Wiley stiffened and shot a panicked glance at Jasmine, who shrugged her ignorance. Her mother had certainly never wept all over her. Besides, she seemed distracted by the blond man breathing down her neck. Wiley recognized him as the one called Fallon, the man who’d stumbled on her camp with Jayems and Keilor. Whatever his business had been, he seemed to be back, and he really,
really
seemed to dig Jasmine.

Her dress was getting all wet. Trying not to seem rude, Wiley eased her mother back and tried out a smile. It was a sickly effort, but the best she could manage with her churning stomach. She’d exploded at Jayems that morning, but her anger had turned into anxiety. She was a little afraid of the woman sobbing in front of her, and very wary.

Because her memories were twenty years old, she held them in check, but she had forgotten nothing. “Mother … how good to see you.”

Lady Rhapsody dried her eyes with a little laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just been so long …” The tears threatened to start up again.

Jayems moved forward. He’d been hanging back, watching the reunion, but was

quick to step up and smooth the awkward moment. He smiled as if Wiley’s behavior at seeing her long lost mother wasn’t a little odd and congratulated them both. Then he introduced Rhapsody’s sister Lady Portae, the chubby older lady.