My Little Runaway (Destiny Bay) (13 page)

The coldness was forgotten. So was the sand. All he felt was the incredible softness of her, the quick passion, the ready invitation. He felt a rush of desire such as he’d never felt before.

“Jenny,” he groaned, pushing back away from her, “I’m sorry. This isn’t what I want. Not now.”

This was too much.
 
She couldn’t take it.
 

“ ‘Sorry’!” Impotent rage swept through her, and hot tears stung her eyes
.
 
After all this, rejection!
 
“Go to hell, Reid Carrington!” she cried, turning to run across the sand, back toward the house. “Just go to hell!”

He watched her go, a frown on his face.
 
Didn’t she see that he was trying to protect her?
 
No, obviously not.
 
What the hell was he doing, anyway?
 
His thoughts and emotions were in a hopeless tangle.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
 

Tender is the Night
 

Jennifer used half a bottle of bubble bath and fluffed the bubbles as high as she could get them before slipping into the tub. She sank down into the foam, closed her eyes, and tried to find a peaceful place in her thoughts. But there was no peace. There was only Reid.

Why didn’t he want her?

Correction. His body wanted her. She’d had ample evidence of that. She’d felt the surge of excitement when she’d come against him just now on the beach, and this morning when she teased him about the letter, and yesterday in her own bedroom.
 

It was all too evident that his body responded to hers. Why didn’t his mind? She’d ruled out the being-faithful-to-another-girlfriend theory. So what was, it? Why was he rejecting her?

She wanted him so badly. She’d never felt this way about another man. She thought she’d been in love a time or two—but never for more than a few days. What she felt for Reid had lasted years and survived a long, long separation. Now it was growing again and she could feel it. It was superseding everything else in her life.

Was she in love? Really and truly in love? She wasn’t sure. But whatever it was that she was “in,” it was wonderful and exciting and scary—and hurt so badly when he rejected her.

Did he still think she was just a kid? Too wild? Too silly? Not worthy of him?

No. Somehow she just couldn’t believe that. But she had to find out what it was. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she did.

She rose from the bubbles and patted herself dry with a huge fluffy towel, then slipped into a terrycloth robe she’d found hanging on the back of the door. Softly, she made her way across the hallway to his bedroom and tapped on the door.

“Jennifer?”

“Yes.”

“Come on in.”

She opened the door. The only light in the room was coming in with her from the hallway. He’d been sitting on his bed in the dark, smoking. All she could see was the outline of his form and the glow at the end of the cigarette.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” she told him. “Don’t you know better than to smoke in bed? You’ll set the house on fire.”

He took another deep drag and let the smoke out slowly
.
“That’s only when you fall asleep with a cigarette in your hand,” he said quietly. “And I’m not about to fall asleep.”

The way he said it, she knew he was in as much turmoil as she was. She switched on the small lamp by his bedside, but it didn’t make a whole lot of difference. The room was still bathed in a somber golden glow, like an old Dutch painting.

She looked at him. He’d had a shower. His hair was combed slickly to his head, and he looked so clean. He was dressed only in slacks, and the sight of his naked chest was painfully attractive.

As dark as he was, he didn’t tan easily, but his skin had a warm, creamy tint, and the rich dark hair that coated his chest shone in the lamplight, looking tantalizingly soft. His muscles were gorgeously bulging, more so than she would have thought. Letting her gaze explore the hills and ridges, she felt her stomach drop away, as though she’d hit a major hill on a crazy roller coaster ride.

“I agree with Margot Peterson,” she said breathlessly. “You look good with your shirt off.”

He didn’t smile. “Get to bed, Jennifer,” he said firmly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

She turned to face him, so close, she almost touched his knees. “Do you want me, Reid?” she asked bravely, her voice quivering.
 

His blue eyes looked jet-black in the gloomy light. He stared at her for a long, tension-filled moment, then he turned and angrily ground out his cigarette in an ashtray on his nightstand. “Please go to bed, Jennifer.”

She touched his hair, one hand still holding her robe closed. “Make love to me, Reid,” she whispered. “I need you so badly.”

“Jenny, oh Jenny,” he groaned, closing his eyes. “I can’t ...”

She let go and slowly, oh so slowly, the robe began to fall away. It slid off her shoulders, and she caught it for a moment. He was watching, his eyes unreadable, like walls of steel. She opened her fingers, and the robe began to slide again, slipping down away from her breasts, then over her hips, until she was standing completely naked, the robe in a pool of terrycloth at her feet.

This was it. If he rejected her now, she would never be able to face him again. But somehow she had to take that chance.

“Reid ...” Her voice was whisper-soft, a breeze stirring the air. “Please make love to me.”

She trembled as his gaze took in all of her, from her slender, bravely squared shoulders down to her breasts, swollen and ripe for his touch, to the tiny, crescent-shaped navel, the rounded hips, the vee-shaped darkness in between, the slim, hard thighs. She held her breath, terrified, so afraid of what he might do next.

He rose slowly and placed his hands on her bare shoulders, staring down into her wide-eyed gaze. His eyes were a deep, deep silver ... a star-filled infinity
.
. .

“Jenny . . .” Her name came out like a cry for help —as though there were something aching in the center of his soul. Then his gaze dropped to her body again, and his hands slipped down, his fingertips touching her nipples, watching the rounded softness turn to berry-dark peaks of eagerness as though he wielded magic in his hands.

“My sweet, beautiful Jenny,” he said huskily, taking her in his arms. “There’s nothing in this world I’ve ever wanted more than to make love to you.”

His hands slid down her back and curled around her buttocks, while his mouth took hers with fierce triumph, as though this had been his idea all along. His kiss wasn’t tender. There’d been too much waiting, too much holding back, and now that the floodgates had been opened, he wanted to devour her, take her, body and soul, make her his.

She made a trembling, vibrating moan that rasped into his consciousness with seductive persuasion, coaxing him, goading him, and he responded by picking her up and placing her on his bed, laying her body out before him like an offering.

“Reid?” she asked, missing his warmth and reaching for him.

“I’m here,” he reassured her, coming down beside her. “Lie still,” he ordered gently. “Let me love you.”

She closed her eyes and let herself drift, all sensation, all emotion. His touch laid down a trail of shimmering fire wherever he explored her, stroking the silky length of her arms, the curved satin of her shoulders, the flat valley of her stomach, massaging the hard muscles of her thighs, carving circles in the softness of her hips. His tongue was hot upon her breast, and when he took her nipple into his mouth, pulling it high and hard and aching with desire, she gasped and began to writhe with the stirrings of a desperate need.

“Take it easy,” his hoarse voice warned her. “Not yet.”

His hand traveled down the length of her, trailing shivers with the backs of his fingers, until he found the heart of her response, and there he touched lightly, again and again, stroking as he might a bit of velvet, until she cried out and reached for him.

“Now!” she pleaded.

“Wait,” he answered, reaching for his belt.

“No,” she said fiercely, shoving aside his hands and undoing the closure herself, ripping at the snap and tugging down the zipper impatiently.

She was stunned by the beauty of his naked body. She’d seen all of a man before, but no one had affected her this way. She felt as though she were in the presence of something godlike and fine, a work of art.

“Oh, Reid,” she whispered, reaching out to tentatively touch, then to hold, his hardness, hardly believing its magic. “Oh, now, please—now! Come to me!”

He came to her, striking deep and sure within her, and she cried out in relief, although she knew this was only the beginning of an even greater hunger. And just as she had foreseen, it grew to a trembling ache that burned and twisted as he rose and fell against her, beating time to the rhythm her own hips were churning. She dug her fingers into his back, gasping, urging him on, greedy and wild, wanting all he could offer— forcing him to offer more.

And then release came, and she cried out, taking him along on the plunge, the leap off the cliff and over the waterfall, and they were soaring, flying, falling, crashing . . . spent and fulfilled ...

It was a long time before they both regained their breath. They lay tangled together, panting, holding on to the moment, holding on to each other.

Finally, Reid raised his head. “Oh, Jenny, sweet Jenny,” he said, pushing her curls back from her face, “I’ve wanted to do that since you were fifteen years old.”

She didn’t think she would ever move again, but she tested her smile muscles and found they still worked.
 

“What took you so long?” she murmured.

He chuckled, tousling her hair. “I have a conscience, you know.”

She lay back and laughed, the sound coming from deep within her—from a new place. “Oh, yes! I know only too well.”

“I used to watch you walk by,” he told her softly, laughter in his voice, “so proud of all your new curves, and I’d have to go take a cold shower just to get through the rest of the day.”

She laughed, throwing her head back and stretching her body. “I was always hoping you were watching,” she admitted. “I used to take deep breaths and push out the strategic places for all I was worth, just in case.”

“I was watching, all right.” His large hand cupped her breast and held it tenderly. “God, I missed you when you disappeared.”

She closed her eyes, knowing they were coming back to the one subject she wanted to avoid. Always full circle. No matter where she went, it always came back to this.

“Why did you go, Jenny?” he asked, as she’d known he would. “Tell me what happened that last day.”

It was time she made her case. He deserved to know —at least part of it, if not all.

“Why did you think I left?” she asked.

His hand left her breast and made a foray down across the valley between her ribs. “The impression I got at the time—from what Tony told me and from what your mother told mine—was that you were wild and willful, that you refused to do what was expected of you, that you’d turned your back on your parents and anyone else in authority and wanted to go be crazy somewhere.”

“Tony told you that?”

“No,” he amended, “that was your mother’s story. Tony said, in his own poetic way, that you were a wild bird who would die in captivity, and that we should all be glad you were flying free.”

She shook her head. “People do take on strange notions,” she murmured. “The truth is always so much less interesting.”

“You’ve got to admit, you were a handful in your teenage years.”

“Oh, I’ll admit that. I got kicked out of school, I refused to attend the debutante ball, I refused to learn to ride, I ran around with some fairly silly kids.”

“I remember the night the police brought you home.”

She nodded. “I was at a party where some kids were doing drugs.” She looked into his questioning eyes, her own clear and honest. “But I wasn’t.”

He nodded his belief. “But you always did walk on the wild side.”

She sighed. “Only up to a point, you know. I wasn’t nearly as wild as everyone thought, especially my parents. They regretted having adopted me.” She glanced at him, surprised to see no shock in his eyes. “You knew I was adopted?”

He nodded again. “Tony and I were very close toward the end. He told me.”

Jennifer felt strangely cold, and she reached to pull the covers up over her. “My natural mother was some girl who worked as a maid for my parents. She got pregnant and didn’t want the baby. My parents had Tony but couldn’t have any more children, and they were dying for a daughter.” She shrugged. “So they kept the baby and sent the maid on her way.”

Reid could sense the tension growing in her, and he bent to kiss her softly behind the ear, nuzzling in his own style of comfort.

“My poor parents. They thought it would be so easy. They would just take that little lump of human clay and form it into their ideal daughter. They didn’t realize the lump might have other ideas.”

“That’s not unusual,” Reid said, still kissing her neck with tiny nibbling kisses. His body was hard and long against hers and his skin smooth and warm. “It happens all the time between parents and teenagers.”

She shook her head. “There was more to it than that. I was like the ugly duckling, something strange they found in their nest one day. When they adopted me, they had certain dreams and expectations. They knew what they wanted. They wanted ...” She dropped her hand from touching him and turned her face toward the wall. “They wanted an Astrid. That’s what they wanted. Astrid. I could never be Astrid. And when I turned out to be a Jennifer instead of an Astrid, they were disillusioned. They wanted to send me back to the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm and try a new model.”

His hand cupped her cheek, and his eyes seemed so full of understanding. And yet, at the same time, he seemed to be retreating from her in some nebulous way.

No, she qualified that. He wasn’t retreating from her. She was building a wall between them again. It was all her doing, not his.