The Long Road Home (17 page)

“Can you blame me?” A sensual smile tugged the corners of his lips. “You had on this mini-skirt. I still remember it and how your legs looked. All long and beautifully tanned.”

And what would he think of her legs now? She wouldn’t chance finding out the answer. No. She wasn’t that stupid.

Viciously, she squashed her spiraling attraction. She needed to come back to earth. The candlelight and roses were getting to her. She wasn’t the same Clarisse as three years ago. She was older, wiser, and not some girl with silly dreams. She had learned life wasn’t perfect; she wasn’t perfect. “That was a long time ago.”

He must have sensed her withdrawal, for the warmth in his eyes faded. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

For Clarisse, the meal lost its appeal. It was a relief to escape the table and the cloying scent of roses and lit candles.

Silently, they walked to her room.

Conscious of John directly behind her, she fumbled with the key. She sighed in relief as the lock gave and she opened the door. Turning to say goodnight, she met his gaze. Her farewell died in her throat.

His eyes reminded her of the fathomless sea at dusk, rolling and churning with hidden depths. She could get lost, even drown in their undercurrent.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, but remained rooted to the floor.

“All right,” Clarisse whispered, swaying toward him.

His hands closed over her shoulders, their warmth seeping through the material of her blouse. “But first I’ve got to...”

Her lips parted beneath the tentative touch of his own. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her mouth, then slipped inside. He devoured her mouth, while his hands inched around her waist to massage the contours of her back. With his body, he nudged her backward and into her room. From a distance, Clarisse heard the door click shut but was too aroused to care. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she pressed closer. Desire raged through her, quickening her heart and heightening her senses.

Burying his head into her hair, he thrust his knee between her legs and arched her back against his arms. “You smell so good.” He groaned, nipping her ear playfully.

She whimpered and clung to the muscles and tendons of his shoulders. They rippled beneath her fingers. “I—”

He smothered her words in a kiss more demanding than the last. Pushing his leg deeper into the juncture of her thighs, he cupped her breast in one large hand. Gasping for air, she clung even tighter as hunger, raw and painful, throbbed through her limbs.

It had been so long.

She felt a slight tug at her waist, and his fingers slipped into the waistband of her jeans and glided along the elastic of her panties. Cool air, a sharp contrast to John’s hot touch, penetrated her consciousness. A shiver raced across her bared skin. Suddenly, shockingly, she realized what she was doing.

In seconds, he would be sliding her pants down her hips and exposing her leg. She went rigid in his arms. She wasn’t prepared for his reaction. For the horror in his eyes and the pain it would cause.

She pushed at his chest. “No.”

Pulling back, John frowned, his hands tightening on her upper arms. Desire lingered in his eyes. “What do you mean, no?”

“I-I…” What could she say? She searched for the truth. “My leg—” She couldn’t go further.

“Is it still bothering you?”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t seem like it a second ago,” John retorted, a flush to his cheeks, suspicion warring with passion.

“Well, it is,” Clarisse snapped, angry at herself and the situation.

At the coldness in her voice, his gray eyes hardened. “You know, I don’t know what to make of you.”

She fumbled with her shirt. After a brief struggle, she tucked it in and buttoned her pants. “I can say the same about you. You shouldn’t be in here. Vivian wouldn’t like it.”

“But you liked it.” Lips curling, John rammed the tail of his shirt into his pants.

She opened her mouth to deny it, but closed it, knowing it would be a lie.

He shook his head. “Suddenly, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.”

She bristled. “Then that makes two of us. Why don’t you leave and give Vivian a call? No doubt, she’s waiting by the phone.”

She turned her back as the door snapped shut behind him. She was a fool! Why hadn’t she just walked into her room and closed the door on John? It would have been so much easier. But no, she had to complicate things by succumbing to her hormones.

And to make matters worse, she had handled the entire situation wrong. Didn’t she know getting emotional didn’t solve things? She snorted in disgust. Obviously not.

A tear trailed hotly down her cheek, and she brushed it off with the back of a hand. She sank down on the bed and buried her head in her pillow. Toto jumped down from the chair he had been sleeping in and joined her on the bed, curling against the curve of her stomach. Absently she scratched behind his ears. “You like me, don’t you?” The dog licked her hand, almost as if it sensed her hurt. “At least someone does. Right now, I know John can’t stand the sight of me. And how can I blame him, when I turn hot and cold on him like that? But what else am I to do? Vivian isn’t exactly out of the picture. Then there’s my stupid leg. It’s ugly. And John doesn’t like ugly. Just look at Vivian. She’s got those long, slinky legs he likes. She’s perfect for him.”

She trailed her fingers through the animal’s soft pelt. “What’s the point of hashing it out in my head? In a day, I won’t have to worry about either of them.”

She flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling. Oh, but why did it have to hurt so much?

****

Someone pounded on her door. The offending noise vibrated through her head, waking her from a fitful sleep. She jerked to a sitting position and glared at the door.

“Who is it?”

“John.”

Stiffening, Clarisse gripped the sheets bunched around her waist. Memories of last night flashed through her mind. Groaning, she moved across the room and combed unsteady fingers through her hair. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know that her blonde hair sprang out in every direction and dark shadows circled her eyes. She opened the door.

“You’re not ready.” John stated the obvious as he strode into the room. “How long do you think it will take you?”

Heat crept beneath the skin of her cheeks at his acid tone. “Only a couple of minutes. I just need to take a quick shower and change.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied. He walked over to the table and sat down. “How’s your knee?”

“Fine.” Self-consciously, she brushed her hands across her hips, then clasped them in front of her. Even though her red satin negligee covered her from breast to ankle, she felt naked beneath his slow, clinical appraisal. She watched him with guarded eyes. How could he look so refreshed and clean-shaven when she knew she looked a mess after battling with the sheets all night? It didn’t seem fair.

He stretched out his jean encased legs and grabbed a magazine on the table as if he were planning to stay. She tensed. “You’re not going to wait here, are you?”

Eyebrow raised, he looked up from the pages and regarded her coolly. “Is there a problem with that? It’s not like we’ve never shared a room. You can always change in the bathroom if you’re feeling modest.”

Clarisse gritted her teeth. So he was going to be obstinate. That was fine by her. Just fine. She could be just as pig-headed.

She hurried to her suitcase and rummaged around until she found some clothing. Grabbing the least wrinkled, she disappeared into the bathroom. She showered quickly and rubbed herself dry. While she was reaching for her bra and underwear on top of the commode, John knocked on the door.

She whipped a towel from the counter and covered herself haphazardly. “Don’t come in!”

Silence followed her alarmed screech. She sensed his puzzlement even through the door. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Oh.” Shaking, Clarisse clutched the sink. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’m going to take the dog for a walk. When you’re done, just meet me out at the car.”

“Sure.”

Still trembling, she reached for her underwear for the second time. There had been no need to panic, Clarisse derided. After all, why would John barge into the bathroom? It wasn’t like he was going to ravish her, now was it? Especially after the way she behaved last night.

She found John waiting by the car. From his rigid posture and closed expression, Clarisse surmised his mood hadn’t improved. She sighed. It looked like the remainder of the trip was going to be hell on wheels.

Silently, he took her bag and stuffed it in the back. She barely had enough time to close her door, before he shifted gears and stamped his foot on the gas. The Explorer sped forward, spitting dust in its wake.

“How long do you think it will take to get to San Diego?” she ventured.

“About ten hours. Maybe longer.”

She slumped against her seat. Over ten hours of pure fun. “About last night...”

“Let’s forget it ever happened.”

She flinched at the harshness of his voice. “What ever.” Oh hell. She was sounding like Vivian.

John turned on the radio and increased the volume, hindering any further conversation. Her lips thinned at the obvious snub. So he didn’t want to talk. Fine, Clarisse told herself. She didn’t have anything to say to him either.

The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. She looked out the window, blind to the passing scenery. Ignoring John in the adjacent seat was impossible. His bulk took too much room, his aftershave, faint yet distinct, drifted to her, and the way his large hands caressed the steering wheel made her think of how they had touched and stroked her last night.

She pulled her book from her purse. Maybe this time, if she concentrated hard enough, the pages would hold her attention.

By the time the sun slipped in the west, and fingers of orange and pink trailed across the sky, a dull headache throbbed against her temples. The distant lights of San Diego appeared over the horizon. Finally. She felt almost giddy with relief. For a time she thought she would never see the city or her sister.

“I need to call Laura.”

He thrust the cell at her. She grabbed the phone, smothering the urge to hit him over the head with it, and dialed her sister’s number.

Laura answered after the first ring. “It’s about time. I was beginning to wonder. You could have called sooner.”

“I didn’t think you deserved it.”

“Yeah, that’s right, pound the nail in further.” In a whisper, Laura confessed, “We were only trying to help.”

Glancing over at John, Clarisse bit back a retort. How she wanted to rant and rave! “Next time—don’t.”

“How are you holding out?”

Mindful of John beside her, Clarisse struggled to keep her voice casual. “What do you think?”

“I can’t hear over this static. What did you say? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Her voice lowered dramatically. “When will you be here?”

Clarisse frowned. Laura was acting strangely, almost as if she were afraid of being overheard. “I don’t know,” she said over the growing interference. “We’re just coming into the city now. Probably in half an hour.”

“Don’t come—” Static cut off the rest of the sentence. Then the connection cleared enough for Clarisse to hear, “There’s something you need to know.”

She tensed at the gravity in Laura’s voice. “What?”

The line worsened. She could only make out a few garbled words. “There’s—waiting—” More static.

Clarisse pressed her ear to the headpiece. “What?”

The static halted; the connection died. She punched in Laura’s number again, but failed to get through. Baffled at her sister’s urgency, she turned the telephone off. Then she shrugged. She would find out soon enough.

When John pulled into her sister’s driveway, her headache had grown, creeping down from her temples to hammer at the base of her skull. Wearily, she crawled from the Explorer and held onto the door. Blood flowed painfully back into her legs. She ignored the discomfort and eyed Laura’s stucco and red tiled home with appreciation. Even if the place had been a dilapidated piece of junk, she would have loved it. She had survived the trip!

John unloaded her luggage by the front door. With the dog beneath one arm, she followed him to the entrance. Clarisse looked up at his shadowy profile. The night shielded his expression, yet she knew he must feel relieved to get rid of her.

“I guess this is it,” he said, pressing the doorbell.

The finality of his words slapped her. “I guess so.”

“I’ll probably be seeing you around at the wedding.”

“Yes.”

The door opened and Laura stepped onto the porch. Short, blonde hair capped her flushed face, and an agitated smile trembled on her lips.

“Clarisse! John! You should have taken your time. There was no need to rush.”

Oh, yes there was, Clarisse thought darkly to herself. Another minute in his company would have been like a jagged splinter burrowing deep into her skin.

“I wanted to hurry,” Clarisse assured. “It isn’t every day my little sister gets married. I thought the day would never come.”