The Long Road Home (9 page)

Bristling at his imperious tone, Clarisse clamped her mouth shut. She clambered into the back seat, muttering to herself, “Not if I can help it.” She slammed the door shut for emphasis.

“So?” Vivian peered over the side of her bucket seat.

“So what?”

Vivian drew back and rolled her eyes. “Well, aren’t we in a snit.”

“Like you can talk,” Clarisse snapped back and immediately regretted it. She might be angry, but it didn’t mean she had to lash out like Vivian. She hoped she had a little more tact and grace than the redhead. “Forget it. Just forget I said anything.”

Clarisse plopped her head back and closed her eyes. Four more days, and she could put this hellish experience behind her.

CHAPTER SIX

The sun’s rays stained the sky with shades of pink and orange by the time they drove into Oklahoma City and pulled into a white, one-story motel. Green awnings rested above each window, and the wood siding appeared freshly painted. Every twenty feet, nineteenth century replica gaslights illuminated the walkway parallel to the building, while large black shadowed dogwood and oak trees rustled above and around them.

Weak and weary from the heat, a headache digging into the base of her skull, Clarisse stayed by the car with Vivian while John registered. They waited in silence, which she preferred. She had nothing to say to such a spiteful, vain woman. Maybe she was being a little too harsh in her judgment, but this trip had eradicated any patience she might have stored away.

John came back to the car and jangled a set of keys in his hand. He flashed them a smile. “It looks like luck’s finally on our side. They have two rooms. Even better. They have a pool.”

“It’s about time something good happened,” Vivian murmured through pursed lips.

“Here. Catch.”

Clarisse captured the keys he tossed. He then grabbed their bags from the Explorer and led the way down the walkway to a corner unit. He dropped Clarisse’s overnight case by the door.

“Just call the night manager if you’ve a problem. And you might want a wake-up call. I plan on heading out of here by three.”

“You can’t be serious,” Vivian snorted.

Lips thinning, John cupped her elbow and steered her back down the walkway. “I’m dead serious.” He glanced over his shoulder. One ebony eyebrow rose. “Clarisse, you don’t have a problem with getting out of here at that time, do you?”

The stubborn thrust of his jaw reminded her of how inflexible he could be if he set his mind to a task. He hadn’t changed.

Her chin inched upward. Arguing was pointless, especially when it was imperative that they get to San Diego as quickly as possible, no matter how unpleasant the means. “Not a one.”

She opened her door, but paused on the threshold. John’s large hand cupped the small of Vivian’s back, guiding her down the walkway to their room. Such a protective and possessive gesture didn’t disturb Clarisse. Not in the least. It couldn’t, because that would mean she cared.

She shut the door behind her and looked around. Landscape prints hung on the beige walls. The carpet, threadbare by the front door and bathroom entrance was a darker hue of beige, while the table and chairs in the corner involved yet another shade. The only relief from the pallid color was a brown bedspread covering the queen-sized bed in the center of the room. Not exactly premier accommodations, but it would do. Especially when the room had a ceiling fan.

She turned the fan on and basked under the whirling blades, pulling her hair back from her shoulders so the cool air could reach her damp skin. Absolute heaven. All she needed now was a drink with heaps of ice.

After using the restroom and quickly running a damp cloth over her face, she left her room with an ice bucket. The vending machines were tucked away in an alcove. To the right of the machines, three walls painted with palms and vibrant flowers enclosed a rectangular pool. She spied John and Vivian swimming and stiffened. There was no getting rid of them!

Amid the laughter and splashing from the pool, someone called her name. She hesitated, loathing the idea of socializing with the couple, then continued across the cool deck.

“Hey, Clarisse!”

“Oh hell,” she muttered, veering over to the pool. She might as well go over and talk to them and get it over with. Then she could enjoy her company for the rest of the evening.

Vivian hung on the side of the pool, a relaxed smile on her face. “The water is absolutely gorgeous. You’ve got to try it.”

Clarisse returned the smile with a guarded one of her own. “I don’t think so.”

John’s strong-limbed body speared through the water and came up beside Vivian. Shaking his head, he splashed droplets by Clarisse’s feet. His teeth flashed white against his tanned skin. He looked too damned handsome and virile. Why couldn’t he look like a troll or something equally repugnant? A gargoyle would be fitting or what about something even more hideous? It would be so much easier for her piece of mind. That way she wouldn’t be constantly reminded of this physical attraction she had for him.

“Clarisse, grab a suit and jump in.” Pleasure gleamed in his eyes and deepened the corners around his eyes.

“Maybe another time.” She shifted.

“It’ll clear the cobwebs from your mind.”

Not pleased where the conversation was headed, Clarisse’s smile froze. “I don’t have a suit.” She’d thrown all of them out in a temper when she had come home from the hospital. Granted a childish act, but at the time she hadn’t been feeling like a rational adult. Months after the crash she had been under a huge tidal wave of self-pity. No matter how hard she had tried to swim afloat, it had engulfed her, almost drowning her with its power.

“Vivian’s got an extra, isn’t that right, Viv?”

The redhead didn’t look pleased with the question, though she answered pleasantly enough. “Sure. It might be a little tight in places.”

“I don’t think so.” Conscious of their eyes sliding over her body, she brushed her hip absently, searching for an excuse, anything to change the topic. “I need an early night. I’ve got a headache.”

“I think John’s got a bottle of aspirin somewhere.” Vivian glided up the steps to the pool deck. The emerald French cut bikini enhanced the redhead’s stunning figure. A group of teen-aged boys ogled her. Two middle-aged men on the other side of the pool stopped talking and stared as she walked over to a lounge and grabbed her towel.

Clarisse watched Vivian recline on the chaise and stretch her long, elegant legs out. Clarisse couldn’t begin to compete with a woman like that. Of course there had been a time, but not now with this damn leg of hers. The pressure biting into her skull intensified. Why did society put so much emphasis on beauty?

Two aspirin were beginning to appeal more than ever. She was running low on her own pills and didn’t want to use those unless it was absolutely necessary. “John, would you mind getting those aspirin?”

“Not at all.”

John hauled himself out of the pool. Water glistened off his broad chest and streamed down the length of his lean muscled legs. Black trunks clung to his narrow hips, buttocks and the contours of his male form. She swallowed down what felt like a ball of lint stuffed in her throat. His swimsuit was lethal. Or maybe it was what was in the suit? Very little was left to the imagination. Yet to her chagrin, her memory managed to fill in the remaining details.

Her gaze collided with John’s amused expression. Heat raced into her cheeks. She had to stop gawking at the man. She was beginning to look obvious to John and anyone else who chanced to glance her way.

“I-I—” Clarisse’s teeth clapped shut. She didn’t have a clue to what she was trying to say. Though, she did know she wanted to slap herself silly. Maybe then she’d make some sense.

She retreated to the vending machines for a soda and ice. When she turned back, John was rubbing his hair dry with a towel. A healthy glow radiated from his high cheekbones and torso.

“Come on, I’ll get that aspirin for you.” Barefoot, he padded over to the wrought iron fence.

She followed him down the walkway to his room, her gaze on the wide sweep of his back that tapered down to his black trunks. Brushing past his near naked body as he held the screen door open, she walked into a room that looked similar to her own, except in hues of faded green.

He shut the screen, but left the inner door open. He rummaged through his bags on one of two queen-sized beds, while Clarisse ventured into the room, feeling as if she were intruding into his and Vivian’s territory. Involuntarily, she watched the play of muscles along his back, shoulders and arms with an avid interest she didn’t like acknowledging.

“Will ibuprofen do?”

Placing the bucket and soda on a nightstand, she took the proffered bottle and looked at the label. The words blurred and melded into one large blob of meaningless gibberish. All she could think about was John a foot away. Memories of how it used to be between them washed over her, of the texture of his skin and the silken locks against her fingers.

She glanced over his naked chest. Not an ounce of fat, only rippling muscle beneath tanned skin. From his navel a V of dark hair disappeared into his swimsuit. She glanced lower...and swallowed. Looking up, she brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. Her face felt hot to the touch. “Ibuprofen is fine.”

His face tightened with some indefinable emotion she could only begin to guess at. “Clarisse, don’t look at me that way.”

She swallowed. “Like what?”

His gaze roamed over her frame, lingering on her breasts and the gentle slope of her hips, then halting on her lips. He stepped toward her. “Like you want me to kiss you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Clarisse shook her head. The rhythm of her heart accelerated. Oh, hell! He looked like he intended to kiss her.

“I think you do,” John insisted in a deep, rumbling voice. The silver flecks in his eyes darkened to charcoal.

His large hands slipped around her waist and up along her back. Fingers splayed, he nudged her gently toward him, until her breasts flattened against the unyielding wall of his chest. Clarisse raked in a lungful of air. She didn’t do a thing to stop him. She didn’t want to. Desire swirled in the depths of her stomach.

His head dipped, blocking her view of the room. Tentatively, his lips brushed hers, tasting and touching. The kiss deepened. His tongue traced the fullness of her lips, parting her mouth and delving inside. Legs suddenly weak, she clutched his shoulders and kissed him back, letting sensual yearning take over all coherent thought. His arms wrapped around her, tightened and pulled her deeper into his embrace.

He broke the kiss, and trailed a fiery path over her throat to her ear. “You taste as good as I remembered.” He nipped gently on her lobe, shooting shivers down her spine.

“All day you’ve wanted me to kiss you,” he murmured into her hair. His lips grazed along the arch of her jaw and up to her mouth.

“No, I haven’t,” she whispered against his lips, his words unraveling the dormant hunger deep inside of her which had been waiting to spring free since she left him.

“Don’t lie.”

He took her mouth, slanting his lips over her own and smothering any protest she might have made.

The bottle slipped from her uncaring fingers and fell to the floor. Her hands, shaky and a little unsure, left his shoulders and swept up into the thick pelt of his hair. His hands roamed, trailing random patterns over her back, and massaging her shoulders and neck. Then they swept up to frame her face as his kiss hardened. She opened her mouth and met him hungrily, arching into his chest. His arousal pressed into her stomach. She whimpered deep in her throat. He still wanted her.

Need, stark and painful, twisted into a heavy knot in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t control the hunger. It had been too long since John had touched her, caressed her, kissed her like this. The taste and feel of him felt right. She’d been kissed since John, but those men had never left her hungry for more.

She pushed into him, wanting his naked flesh against her own, thrusting into her, filling her, and slaking her sexual hunger.

With trembling hands, he tugged the shirt from the waistband of her jeans and slid a palm up over her ribs to cup one breast. Her breath stilled, then hissed into his mouth when his thumb traced over the hard peak of her breast.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving her disoriented and aching. If it hadn’t been for his hand on her elbow, she might have fallen. Through dazed eyes, Clarisse met John’s flushed face in confusion.

Footsteps, dangerously close, echoed along the walkway outside. They paused by John’s screen door. Oh hell! It couldn’t be Vivian!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Clarisse dragged in an uneven breath and stuffed her shirt frantically into her pants. How stupid could she get? Pawing a man already involved with another woman was ludicrous. And messing with a woman like Vivian was equally crazy. She’d met her type before: high-strung, aggressive and dangerous when thwarted.

Vivian walked in and stopped. The screen door banged shut, crashing in the thick silence. Her eyes narrowed.

Unable to look at the redhead with a guilt free conscience, Clarisse hid her hot face by dropping down and retrieving the pills. The silence was unbearable.