Lead Me On (9 page)

Scott remembered details from last night, her nervousness and uncertainty. "He was the only one, too, wasn't he?"

She continued straightening the coffee table.

"I take it you were in love."

She glared at him.

"Okay." He held up his hand. "I won't press for all the gory details, I just want to know if you were in love with the kid. I assume he was a kid."

"He was a spoiled little rich boy carving notches in his bedpost. And yes, I thought I was in love. Except the boy I loved was an illusion."

"How long did you date him before you figured that out?"

"Four months," she answered through gritted teeth, her gray eyes flashing.

"Have you dated anyone since?"

"No."

"At all?"

"No!"

"God, no wonder you were desperate to have sex." He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. She rose and crossed to the window, staring outside with her arms wrapped about her stomach.

With a sigh, he rose as well and came up cautiously behind her. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's the truth. I'm desperate and pathetic. You're the first man in ten years who has even wanted to take me to bed."

"I doubt that."

"It's true." She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of the robe.

"No it's not. It's impossible." He laid his hands on her shoulders and felt her stiffen. "You just intimidate men, is all."

She snorted. "Oh yes, I'm so intimidating."

"If you only knew." He massaged her shoulders, to help her relax as he remembered first meeting her. The primness of her manner had warned him to keep his distance. Now he knew part of that stiffness came from old hurt, magnified through years of perceived rejection. How ironic that the shield she used to protect herself only compounded her pain. He bent his head to nuzzle her hair. "You're so beautiful, the shy ones probably assume you'd turn them down flat, and you're way too sweet for the selfish bastards of the world. Except me, apparently." He kissed her temple. "Which proves I have even fewer scruples than I thought."

"You're not that bad."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I have to disagree." He turned her and gathered her against him. "I had no business bringing you here. You should be dating some nice guy who'll take you on picnics and long walks on the beach, then get down on one knee and beg you to marry him so he can spend the rest of his life giving you babies and making you happy."

"No!" To his surprise, she buried her face against his chest. "I told you, I don't care about that. I'm just tired of feeling unwanted."

"Hey, hey." Tipping up her chin, he brushed the tears from her cheek with his thumb. "You are anything but that."

"Prove it." She looked at him with translucent eyes. "Make me feel wanted."

An alarm sounded inside his head, warning him he was entering dangerous waters. He should turn back and swim like hell for shore. But he couldn't resist the plea in her eyes. He lowered his head and kissed her lips, wishing he could kiss away whatever demons tormented her. Her arms slipped up around his neck as she molded her body to him.

Hunger stirred eagerly to life. Last night they'd enjoyed each other with abandon, each glutting their senses in a carnal feast. This time, though, would be for her.

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down among the rumpled sheets. Tossing his robe aside, he settled beside her. Her own robe parted as he trailed kisses down her neck, over her body. He focused all his attention on pleasing her, on seeking out every sensitive spot that made her gasp and sigh. Her pulse drummed against his lips as she writhed beneath him.

"Scott," she whispered and reached for him. "I want you. Now."

"No." He brushed her hands away and continued his path down her stomach. He pressed his lips to the heated skin just below her belly button and felt her muscles quiver. Raising his head, he smiled at her. "I'm going to show you just how desirable you are by doing all the things I've wanted to do since the moment I first saw you."

He moved his hand down over her belly and between her thighs. Her eyelids went heavy as he teased her heated flesh with slow, bold caresses. "Yes," she whispered, and relaxed her legs, giving him free rein to pleasure her however he wished. And pleasure her he did, oh so beautifully, before giving in to the demands of his body and seeking his own release.

Her body weak and sated, Allison lay facing Scott. His eyes were closed, giving her the freedom to study his face. Life was so full of surprises. Three days ago, she'd almost resigned herself to living vicariously through others. She had the inn, the gift shop, family and friends. She'd told herself that was enough to balance the lonely nights in her empty bed. Yet now, here she was—lying in bed with a gorgeous, compelling man who delighted in making her wild with pleasure. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

"What's that grin about?" he asked in a lazy rumble, and she realized his eyes weren't completely closed.

"That life is never what we expect."

"Oh?" He arched a brow.

He looked so irresistible when he did that even though she suspected he was trying to look dark and cynical. She propped her head on her hand and trailed her fingertip through the swirls of black hair on his chest "When I was young, I used to dream about exactly what you described—dating, marriage, children."

He tucked an arm behind his head and studied her. "So what happened?"

She shrugged, hedging.

"Come on," he coaxed.

"Loving someone makes you vulnerable. And the more you love, the more it can hurt when you lose them. I have no choice with Adrian and Rory, and my aunt Viv. I already love them, but I don't want to let anyone else into that circle."

"What about your parents? I've never heard you mention any."

She kept her gaze fixed on her fingertip as she made precise circles. "They died when I was five. Mom and Dad were both actors, performing on stage in Connecticut. We were in an accident, returning to our hotel one night after one of their performances."

"You were with them?"

She drew more circles, each one smaller. "Adrian and I were asleep on the back seat. Mom had made a bed for Rory on the floorboard. It was a head-on collision."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry. That must have been horrible." He tried to gather her close, but she remained rigidly where she was, refusing to get emotional.

"People think kids are resilient, that they can bounce back from something like that and go on with life. But some things you never get over." She took a breath and blew it out slowly to help keep the pain down deep where she'd buried it years ago. "So ... what about you? Why don't you want a wife and kids?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Because even I'm not that big of an SOB."

She gave him a questioning look.

"Genetically I'm a bad risk. The men in my family, for as far back as anyone can remember, have been legends for two things: their greed, and their emotional cruelty toward women. Indifference and infidelity were my father's specialties."

She cocked her head to study him. "You don't really think something like that is passed down through the genes, do you?"

"Ask my mother. She'll be happy to tell you how I'm just like my father, that I don't care about anyone but myself, I'm selfish and thoughtless and a terrible son."

"What an awful thing for a mother to say!"

"Yeah, truth is a real bitch, ain't it?" His mouth twisted with sarcasm. "But even if I weren't a chip off the ol' block, I wouldn't want marriage. The whole idea of happily-ever-after is a myth. People pretend they have a great marriage because they don't want others to know the truth. They don't realize everyone is pretending. If we'd all be honest and admit no two people can live together long term and stay happy about it we'd all be better off. I grew up watching what hate does to people, and I don't want any part of it."

"Your parents' marriage was that bad?" she asked, shocked that he thought all marriages were like that.

"Why do you think I became a writer?"

"I don't understand."

"It's the perfect way to escape. When I'm writing, I'm not even part of the real world. I mentally enter a world of my own making. It's like being the god of my own universe." He wiggled his brows, suddenly playful. "Characters live and die by my whim. And if one of them dares to irritate me, I can end their miserable existence in some ghastly manner." He gave a diabolical laugh.

Her brows shot up. "Have you talked to a therapist about this god complex and violent streak of yours?"

"And risk ruining my career?" He feigned horror. "What would my readers say?"

"You're right. Forget I said anything. As one of your readers, I much prefer you slightly insane." She kissed his shoulder. "Speaking of your books, are you going to tell me about the one you're writing now?"

For a heartbeat his face went blank. Then he narrowed his eyes. "So, this was all a dastardly plot to relax me with sex, catch me off guard, and wheedle information out of me." His voice took on a German accent "Confess ze truth and I may let you live. Someone put you up to zis, eh?"

Her eyes widened. "I'm innocent, I swear."

In one swift move, he had her on her back, her hands pinned to the mattress above her head. "Who are you spying for,
Fraulein
?"

"No one."

"Ve have vays to make you talk." He transferred both her wrists to one hand and tickled her ribs until she convulsed with laughter. "Vas it another author who vants to steal my brilliant ideas?"

"No, no." She writhed beneath him, laughing so hard, her sides ached.

"My editor,
Frau Kommandant
?"

"You'll never torture it out of me." She thrashed her head from side to side, tears of mirth wetting her lashes.

"Aaah, I know. It vas my agent. Ze two of you devised zis scheme together."

"All right, I confess. It was Hugh Ashton. He asked me to run away with him to Tahiti and I couldn't resist."

"Aha! I knew it." He rolled on top of her, his body pressing her into the mattress. "And now, you must be punished for consorting with ze enemy." His mouth took hers in a deep, drugging kiss.

She was dizzy by the time he lifted his head. "No more," she sighed, stretching up toward his mouth. "I can't take it. Have mercy."

"I have no mercy for traitors." He kissed her again.

She melted beneath him, enjoying the way he made her body sing with excitement. When he moved to her neck, she pressed her lips to his ear. "So, what is your book about?"

Groaning, he rolled off her and sprawled on his back staring at the ceiling.

She propped her head on her hand and wrapped a bit of chest hair around one finger. "Ve have vays to make you talk." She gave a warning tug and his hand covered hers.

"No." His eyes lost their teasing light as he looked up at her. "I'm officially taking the day off. No talk of writing. For today, I don't even want to think about writing."

"All right." She tried to hide her disappointment that the playful mood had ended. "What do you want to think about?"

"That depends." He came up on both elbows. "What are we going to do today?"

"I assumed we'd go back to the inn once we checked out"

"Do you have to go straight back?"

"I should." Her shoulders slumped. "There's always rooms to clean, towels to wash, and the gift shop to dust and straighten. Although I've hardly taken any time off since we opened."

"In other words, you could get away with playing hooky if you wanted to."

"Hooky?" The word piqued her interest

"You know, like you did back in high school."

"I never played hooky."

"You're kidding." He stared at her. "Man, and I thought my childhood was deprived."

"So, how's it done?" she asked eagerly.

"First name something you'd really like to do that you haven't done in a while?"

"Anything?"

"Well, anything we can do together."

She blushed, and glanced down at his body.

"Besides that you wanton thing."

She thought a minute. "I don't suppose you ride horses."

"Are you kidding?" He snorted. "When my family came here in the summer, riding horses on the beach ranked right up there with surfing and ogling babes in bikinis."

"Really?" She sat up with the sheet tucked loosely about her. "I wonder if the stable out on Stewart Road still rents horses by the hour."

"We could find out," he said. "Do you have the right clothes to wear?"

"Well, not on me."

"Obviously." He grinned at the portion of breasts visible above the sheet.

"But I still have some jeans and riding boots at my aunt's house. That's where we were living until we moved into the inn. We haven't bothered to move everything out since Aunt Viv isn't using the place."

"Aunt Viv?" Scott's eyes narrowed. "As in the Incomparable Vivian Young, star of Broadway, right?"

"You've heard of her?"

"I'm a hopeless addict of movies, plays, and other people's books." He touched his forehead. "If memory serves, you've had several famous performers in your family, all the way back to Marguerite."

"True." She nodded. "In fact, Adrian, Rory, and I are the first generation who haven't had any interest in the stage."

"Now there's bound to be a story behind that statement."

"I guess, but I doubt it would hold your interest."

He gave her a wry look. "I'm always interested in hearing a story. I have to warn you though, anything you say may be used in my next book."

She smiled. "All right then. Take me horseback riding, and I'll be happy to bore you to tears."

"You got it, sweetheart." He tossed back the covers and leapt from the bed, gloriously nude. "You get dressed while I call the stables."

Half an hour later, when Scott emerged from his turn in the bathroom, Allison was dressed and hanging up the phone from calling the inn.

"Everything all clear?" Scott asked.

"Yep." She gave him a stiff smile. "Adrian isn't happy, but he's taken off more days than I have, so there wasn't much he could say."

Nodding, Scott headed for the closet and pulled on jeans and a black T-shirt

"Do you always wear so much black?" Allison asked as she dug through her luggage for a pair of sandals to go with her yellow tank top and tropical-print skirt

"Pretty much." He sat on the bed and pulled on the black cowboy boots he'd worn the night before. "But before you go thinking it's some political statement or social commentary, let me assure you it's just laziness on my part."

"How so?"

"Every day I have to make a million decisions, not just about plot twists but character names, physical descriptions, mannerisms, and what the hell
they're
wearing. The last thing I want to think about is my own clothes. Plus, when I travel for research, it's easier to pack if everything is either black or something that goes with black."

"You forgot one thing."

"What's that?"

She grinned at him. "It's very sexy."

"You think so, eh?" He pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her full on the mouth, sending her senses reeling. The minute she wrapped her arms about his neck, though, he pulled back. "Stop that woman. Or you'll wind up taking a very different kind of ride."