The Long Road Home (5 page)

Once she finished with the bottle, he used the remaining liquid to dampen a bandanna from his suitcase. He put the cool cloth to her brow, and trailed it along her hairline and down across the back of her neck.

his touch, she wanted to cry. She’d lost a very special, gentle man. She’d always known that, but today it hurt just a little more than usual.

She stiffened as Vivian came around to the back of the Explorer. So much for dreaming. He had a woman in his life who wasn’t stupid enough to let him go.

“Are we going to get this fixed or not?” Vivian asked, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “It’s getting hot standing around with all this asphalt.”

Clarisse gave John a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He found the jack and pulled the spare from under the vehicle. Clarisse stepped gingerly down. The right front tire lay in ruins. The smell of burnt rubber drifted through the air, while pieces of tire littered the interstate. They’d been lucky to make it through the blowout unscathed.

Moving back from the vehicle to give John some room, Clarisse watched him elevated the front of the vehicle with the jack. As he pried the hubcap off and loosened the lug nuts, sweat broke out and soon coated his back, staining his navy blue t-shirt.

Vivian joined her. “If we flew, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Clarisse murmured something noncommittal. John slid the torn tire from the axle.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it on the hood of the Explorer. The corded muscles of his chest and stomach flexed and rippled with the movement. Sweat glistened over each hollow and curve of his evenly tanned skin. Her stomach tightened. She looked away and found Vivian watching her. Heat crept beneath Clarisse’s cheeks.

“I thought you told me there isn’t anything between the two of you.”

Clarisse gave a husky laugh. “There isn’t.”

Vivian snorted. “Come off it,” she hissed. “I saw the way you were looking at him.” At Clarisse’s raised eyebrow, Vivian shook her head. “Fine. Pretend whatever you want. It’s not like anything’s going to come of it. Not when I’m around. I didn’t talk John into taking me on this stinking trip for nothing.”

Clarisse felt her face redden in anger. “You have no right talking to me like that,” she retorted in a lowered voice, mindful of John yards away. “And what do you mean by ‘talking John into taking you’?”

“Nothing.” What looked like uneasiness flashed in Vivian’s eyes. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did.” She raised her hand in supplication, though her apology sounded as if it had been forced from her lips.

Clarisse started to say something but then stopped. No. She better keep silent. They still had a long journey ahead of them.

Vivian put her thumbs in her pockets, looked down and kicked a stone by her foot. A cloud of red hair swirled around her as she turned back to Clarisse and smiled stiffly. “I’ve never been one for car trips. They’ve always been a killer for me.”

“It’s done,” John called out, “but the spare is one of those down-sized factory types.” He wiped his bare torso with his shirt, missing a line of sweat that slid along the column of his neck. “It’s more like a Band-Aid than anything else. We’ll have to stop off in St. Louis and replace it with a normal tire.”

Clarisse ignored Vivian’s disgruntled sigh.

“While I’m at the store waiting around for a new one, you can get your dress for the wedding, Vivian,” John added as he walked over to them. “This way we can save some time instead of all of us waiting around. Clarisse might want to join you.”

“Well, I was kinda hoping to find a dress at a store like Neiman Marcus or Saks. I don’t know if they have one in the city.” Vivian gave John a weak smile.

“If you think I’m going to hunt around the city for a certain store and waste half a day, think again,” John retorted in exasperation. “Here’s your opportunity, but you need to be quick about it. You can take it or wait till San Diego.”

“Fine.” Vivian’s chin trembled. “Clarisse can keep me company.”

Clarisse envisioned herself walking through aisle after aisle of clothing and knew she couldn’t do it physically. Yet being alone John held little appeal. “I don’t think I can handle a couple of hours of shopping. Not with a sprained ankle. I think I should stay with John.”

Vivian’s gaze narrowed. “I bet you do.”

Raising her chin, Clarisse glared back. Her hands tingled with the urge to do bodily harm, but she refrained and said instead, “You can bet whatever you want. It matters little to me.”

“Don’t either one of you start.” John glowered at the both of them. “Because I’m not dealing with a personality conflict on this trip. I’ve got enough problems without the two of you adding to it.” He turned his back and walked away.

He was right, Clarisse hated to admit. She needed to focus on getting to San Diego. Nothing else mattered.

After he donned a fresh shirt, they climbed back in the Explorer and re-entered the interstate traffic. Three hours later they drove into St. Louis. With the help of a map and cellular phone, John found an auto repair store within two minutes of the mall.

Clarisse watched Vivian disappear into the shopping center’s main entrance.

“Are you going to hop up front?” John peered around the front seat. “Or did you need some help with that ankle of yours?”

“I—No.”

Clarisse left the back and slid into the front. Shifting in her seat, she glanced through her lashes to John’s jean-clad legs. Her gaze slid up his body to where his large hands curled around the steering wheel. He took up most of the front with his bulk. Oh, hell. She didn’t like this one bit.

“Ready?”

She met John’s raised brow and forced her lips into a smile. “Yes.”

This was the first time she’d be alone with him for longer than a few minutes. She ignored the fluttering of her stomach. There was no reason to be nervous. What could possibly happen in a couple of hours?

CHAPTER FOUR

They pulled into an auto repair shop. John held open the front door for her, and she slipped past, accidentally brushing against his chest. The clean, masculine scent of his aftershave drifted to her. She shivered. What was she doing? She should have gone with Vivian. At least then she wouldn’t have to deal with John and the maelstrom of feelings he instigated.

A mechanic stood behind the counter, hugging a telephone receiver between his shoulder and ear. After a few minutes he hung up.

“I need my tire—”

“One sec.” The mechanic interrupted John, picking up the phone, then transferring the call to the garage.

John began again, annoyance lacing his words. “I need my right front tire replaced.”

The mechanic popped his gum loudly. “That’s going to take over an hour.”

“What do you mean ‘over an hour’?” John shifted impatiently on his feet.

“We’re backed up. That’s the best I can do.”

Clarisse glanced over at the empty waiting room. Odd. The place didn’t look backed up.

“Fine,” John clipped out. “Go ahead. It’s the red Ford Explorer.” He surrendered his keys and turned from the counter in disgust.

“That’s a bit excessive.” Her mind screamed in protest at the thought of spending over an hour in his company.

“I’m not going to argue, but it’s the best we’re going to do. The place is a reputable company. I guess we’ll just have to relax and wait.”

They walked into the waiting room. Clarisse plucked a
Glamour
magazine wedged between
Popular Mechanics
and
Fishing
. She recognized the model on the cover.

Clarisse sat on a green plastic chair, one of many lining both sides of the room, while John remained standing by the vending machines.

“Did you want a drink?”

“Ah, sure. A diet soda.”

The machine rumbled and coughed out two cans. As John hunkered down and retrieved both, the jeans strained across his buttocks and thighs. He stood and turned. Quickly, Clarisse looked down at the magazine in her lap and tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

“Here.” A diet, cherry cola came into view. She grasped the can. His fingers, hot and alive, brushed hers.

“Thanks.”

She flipped the tab. Soda exploded from the can, spraying the front of her shirt, neck and hair. Spluttering, she stumbled to her feet and dropped the magazine, almost overbalancing her chair.

“Here, look out!” John grasped her arm before she slipped on the floor, laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You smell like cherries.”

“That’s right, go ahead and laugh.” Her mouth twitched with amusement. “You don’t have sticky soda all over you.” She wiped her cheek and mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh. It’s everywhere!”

John grabbed a couple of paper towels from a dispenser in the corner of the room and started brushing the soda from her neck. He dabbed at the hollow above her collarbone and lowered to the scalloped edging of her shirt’s neckline.

Pulse quickening, Clarisse looked down and saw the short black hairs across his fingers and the calluses along his thumb and the fleshy part of his palm. His hand appeared dark and masculine against her pale skin. Unexpectedly, an image of his palm lowering yet further to cup her breast and run a thumb across its tip flashed through her mind.

She raked in a lungful of air, glanced up and saw something hot and hungry flicker John’s eyes. Flustered, Clarisse knocked his hand away and stepped back in confusion. Then she realized how odd her reaction seemed.

“I-I—” Clarisse laughed shakily. “I don’t think I’m having a very good day.”

She could still feel the imprint of his hand against her flesh. This was not happening. For goodness sakes! She was an adult, not some sex crazed teenager! She had to exert some self-control.

John’s lips twisted into a wry smile. He offered her the remaining clean paper towels. “Look on the positive side.”

Clarisse arched a brow and regained some of her poise. “And what would that be?”

“Let’s see.” He frowned, shook his head and chuckled. “There are many positive sides. It just depends on your outlook.”

“Can’t find a one, can you?” Clarisse smiled in amusement.

John’s gaze lowered and stilled on her breasts. “I can see two.”

Curious, Clarisse looked down. The drink had soaked through her shirt and into her bra, outlining her nipples through the material.

Oh hell! Clarisse pulled the shirt from her waistband. Holding the hem between two fingers, she waved it back and forth, and let the air rush through the space between her skin and the wet fabric. Feeling her face redden, Clarisse rubbed frantically at the stain, but gave up when paper particles started clinging to her shirt.

“There’s a bathroom in the corner.”

Her nostrils flared. She hated his smug smile and confident stance. He knew he still had the power to rattle her composure.

When she came out of the restroom, John had eased his long length into a chair. She glanced out the window that lined one side of the walls and spied a mechanic pulling the tire from the Explorer. Thank goodness! It shouldn’t be long now.

John snapped open his can and gulped down the drink. The strong tendons sloping from his neck to his powerfully built shoulders, rolled and flexed, making her remember how easily he could pick her up. She shook her head in exasperation. This was ridiculous! She had to stop this fascination!

She retrieved the magazine and found her drink had crinkled the paper in several spots. She wiped the cover.

The silence between them lengthened. Absently, she rolled the magazine till it formed a cylinder and tapped it against her thigh. Her attraction to John was something she would have to learn to get over. Pure and simple. And it wouldn’t take long if she set her mind to it. After all, they had nothing in common now. Absolutely nothing.

She sat down, uncurled the magazine and turned a page. Unable to withstand the silence, Clarisse closed the periodical and pointed at its cover. “Did you do this? It looks like your work.”

“No. I don’t do models.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Since when?”

“Almost two years.” John cocked a brow. “And what about you? You’re not modeling anymore. Your friends and business associates thought it strange how you disappeared so abruptly. Why did you?”

Her fingers tightened, crumpling the paper on her lap. She searched vainly for some plausible answer other than the accident. “I’d had enough of that life. And it’s not like I had any real friends. Most were after what I could offer them.”

A dark flush colored his cheeks. “Are you implying that I only associated with you because you had something to offer?”

Sudden anger made her snap. “Well, wasn’t it? If my face hadn’t been in such demand, you’d have been just another photographer scraping out an existence. Not the John F. McDonnell everyone wanted.”

“You seem to forget that without my experience and talent, you wouldn’t have become so renowned.”

Clarisse opened her mouth to retort something equally biting, but stopped. Without each other, neither of them would have become so successful. She sighed and steered the conversation down a different alley. “I’m a little surprised you branched away from modeling.”