The Walk of Fame (17 page)

She’d kidded herself into believing she was being sensible, rational, when in reality she’d been exactly the opposite. She’d let her inner nymphomaniac loose as Daisy had suggested, and now it had taken complete control of her faculties. She had to try to be practical now. But how could she when her hormones refused to co-operate?

Her fingers fisted on the towel, her back bumping against the glass brick wall of the shower cubicle as he rested his hand above her head. He was standing so close she could see the tiny flecks of grey in his irises.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to shower on my own,’ she said, the words strained and breathless.

His palm settled on the side of her neck, making her jump. ‘But I do mind,’ he said as his thumb glided under her chin, touching the sensitive skin like a firebrand.

She gulped down a staggered breath, felt the long, liquid tug low in her belly. ‘Please, Mac, this isn’t a good time.’ She couldn’t think with his body so close, his scent surrounding her.

He lowered his head, his eyes still fixed on her face. ‘So tell me to stop, then.’

The words stuck in her throat as he tugged the towel loose from her numbed fingers and dropped it at her feet.

His mouth covered hers as his hot body pushed her back against the cubicle wall. His chest hair abraded distended nipples and the thick evidence of his desire branded her through the thin covering of cotton as he hauled her against him with one arm.

She bucked as cold water flickered against her side. He’d turned on the shower.

He lifted his head, his lips quirking, determination and arousal darkening his eyes to a rich cobalt. ‘Who says guys can’t multitask?’

And with that he grasped her waist and lifted her easily into his arms.

‘Hold on,’ he murmured as his hands gripped her bottom, spreading her thighs wide to accommodate him.

She clung to his neck, her senses rioting as he stepped into the deluge with her wrapped around him. Cool water sluiced down her body, and fire throbbed at her core.

She struggled, trying to free her limbs and her mind from the drugging passion, the brutal arousal. But then her back thudded against the cubicle wall, trapping her against him and the thick, relentless pressure between her legs.

‘Don’t ever tell me you don’t want me.’ The light, easy tone had vanished to be replaced by a low insistent demand.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, the broad, muscled sinews bunching beneath her fingers as she tried to find the will to push him back, to hold on to her sanity.

But then he bent his head and pressed his lips to her neck. Her head fell back, like a flower whose stalk had been snapped at the stem, and her breath struggled out in staggered pants as she surrendered to the inevitable. His teeth and tongue assaulted her senses, sucking and nipping at the pulse point as desire gushed from her core.

‘I want you now—are you ready for me?’ he demanded.

She nodded, dazed and desperate.

He pulled back for barely a moment, swore under his
breath and then the thick head of his erection pushed at the swollen folds. She sobbed, the intrusion remorseless, the whirlpool spiralling out of control as he adjusted her hips and thrust heavily into her.

Fully impaled, she moaned, arousal dimming with the sudden rush of fear.

She couldn’t do this. She would lose herself for ever. But she couldn’t focus, her senses spinning as all her attention riveted on the intense pleasure.

She hid her face in his throat as his fingers dug onto her hips, adjusting her into position as he began to move. She gasped at the merciless penetration, then he butted that place deep inside, forcing her to climax in a savage rush. Caught in a ferocious undertow, the pleasure faded only to surge back to life, pummelling her as his slow strokes got harder, and faster and more ruthless.

She arched back as he exploded into her on an angry shout and she surrendered to the final furious wave of orgasm.

‘Damn it.’

Mac’s muttered curse pierced Juno’s shattered mind.

Her senses sharpened as he lifted her off him. She stood on limp legs, confused and shaky, as he stormed out of the cubicle.

What had just happened?

The water splashed her shins as she watched him through the foggy glass. He still had on the drenched boxer shorts, clinging to his buttocks. He braced his arms on the vanity unit, and sank his head down, his shoulders rigid, his stance stiff with tension.

Vulnerability clawed at her. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand, her lungs feeling as if they were being ripped out.

Who was he? Had he ever been the man she thought he was?

Moving with care, her thighs aching, her sex tender from the fury of their coupling, she switched off the shower unit. She gathered up the towel and wrapped it around herself. Suddenly desperate to hide her nudity.

‘We’ve a problem,’ he said as she stepped out, his voice so rough she had to strain to hear it.

He turned to prop his butt against the vanity unit and fold his arms across his chest.

‘What problem?’ she asked.

Dread seeped into her stomach like a black bile as his eyes met hers, dark and expressionless. ‘I didn’t wear a condom.’

‘I …’ She tried to grasp what he was saying, but her mind could only latch onto the annoyance in his voice.

‘You’re not on the pill, are you?’

She shook her head and he swore, thrusting his hand through his hair, furrowing the wet strands into haphazard rows.

‘When was your last period?’

‘I …’ She couldn’t remember, everything inside her recoiling from the impatience, the temper in the question. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Think. It’s important.’

Her fingers felt clammy, her heartbeat banging her ribcage. ‘I’m due soon. I’m sure I am.’

‘We can’t risk it.’ He thumped his fist on the vanity. ‘A pregnancy would be a disaster. There’s a pill you can take, right? To stop it happening.’

The black bile rose up to throttle her as his words hurled her back into memory. To a time, a place, an agony she had sworn she would never revisit. She gulped down the sob that threatened to burst out, pushed back the terrible, churning panic.

Don’t go there. Don’t ever go there.

She couldn’t be that girl again, destroyed, destitute. She couldn’t go back to that. Couldn’t spend another six years repairing her life. Survival was all that mattered now.

She gritted her teeth to hold back the swell of nausea and willed her mind to cling to the present. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ Her voice sounded as if it were coming from miles away.

She turned to leave, taking that first crucial step back from the abyss. Knowing the only way to survive now was to leave—and to never look back.

‘Juno, wait.’ Mac shot across the room.

What had he done? This was all his fault.

He’d seen the wariness, the confusion in her eyes when she’d told him she didn’t want him and he’d panicked.

But instead of seducing her, instead of stoking the passion between them and waiting for her response, the raw need had taken over and he’d lost control. He’d taken her, claimed her, pounding them both to orgasm, with no finesse and no thought to the consequences. And he’d ruined everything.

‘I’m sorry.’ He took her shoulders, massaged the chilled skin. ‘You’re not to blame for this. I am.’

He’d always known he couldn’t risk fathering a child. He stared at the backs of his hands, so large and rough against her delicate frame. His father’s hands.

She stiffened, making the tremor in her shoulders more pronounced. ‘You’re right, a pregnancy would be a disaster,’ she said. ‘But I’d rather not talk about it now.’

Why did she sound so formal, so polite?

‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice even as he kissed the top of her head. ‘A good night’s sleep is what we both need. And we’ll sort this mess out in the morning.’ If he could just hold her, he could make it right.

She turned, shrugging off his hands. ‘I’m really tired. I think I’ll sleep in the guest suite.’

And with that she was gone.

He took a step forward, determined to get her to come back, then stopped himself.

Where the hell did he think he was going?

He had to get a grip, to ease off, to give her some space. To give them both some space.

They’d been living in each other’s pockets for close to two weeks and somehow he’d let the company, the sense of companionship get to him. Which was exactly why he’d lost leave of his senses in the shower. If this was going to work, he’d
have to learn to start backing off. And that meant not giving in to every damn stupid urge where she was concerned.

One night without her beside him wouldn’t do any harm. In fact it would probably do them both a great deal of good.

M
AC
had revised his opinion a fair bit by eight the next morning, having spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in his empty bed.

Something about the way they’d parted had niggled constantly at the back of his mind. He’d been thoughtless and overbearing and she’d had every right to call him on it. But why hadn’t she been more angry, more upset with him? She’d been so calm, so controlled, and the more he thought about it, the more it unnerved him.

He had the definite feeling he’d missed something vitally important.

Juno sat at the table, finishing a bowl of muesli as he walked into the kitchen.

‘Hello there,’ he said, sounding heartier than he felt. ‘You sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, so politely it made him wince. She didn’t look up.

Undeterred, he placed his hand on her shoulder, pressed a kiss to her cheek.

And she shifted away.

Damn it, what was this now? Was she mad with him after all?

He braced himself for the tirade he’d expected the night before, but she kept her head bent over the bowl and carried on scooping up the cereal in careful, precise spoonfuls.

Was she waiting for him to say something first? He sighed. Best to get it over with.

He grabbed the box of cereal, poured himself a generous helping while trying to figure out what to say without making an ass of himself.

‘I’ll apologise again for treating you the way I did last night. We both got carried away and then I overreacted and went off on one. I’m sorry.’

Her spoon stayed in the bowl. But she still didn’t look at him. The niggling got worse.

‘There was no need for you to sleep alone,’ he pointed out, rather reasonably, he thought.

Her hand lay on the table. He reached over, covered it with his. ‘How about we forget it ever happened? A pregnancy’s a long shot with you so close to the end of your cycle. And if there is one, well, then we’ll deal with it.’

He’d examined the possibility from every angle during the night—as he’d had more than enough time to think about it—and had decided to leave it up to fate. With his past, his heritage, he would never have planned to become a father, but he hadn’t been able to get the memory of Connor cradling his baby son out of his head.

In the end he’d come to the conclusion that if by some miracle he’d got Juno pregnant last night, the thought of a little boy or girl with her eyes, her sweet, practical temperament and his tenacity didn’t seem like such a terrifying prospect.

She pulled her hand out from under his and it disappeared beneath the table. He felt the tug of annoyance. Surely he’d eaten enough humble pie? He couldn’t keep apologising for ever.

‘How about we go sailing today?’ he said lightly. ‘I’ve a yacht up at the marina and it’s a beautiful day for it.’ Just the thought of her in that skimpy yellow swimsuit lying on the polished teak of the bow had his mood improving.

Her chin jerked up and she met his eyes at last. ‘I need to
leave in an hour. I’m booked on the two o’clock flight from LAX. I’ve checked out the bus times and I—’

‘Whoah.’ He leapt up, the chair crashing onto the floor as her words registered. ‘You’re… What?’

She stood, picked up her bowl. ‘I should get back to work,’ she said quickly, efficiently as she walked to the sink. ‘The weekends are our busiest time. I arranged the flight when I woke up so I could be back on Friday morning.’

‘Well, you’ll have to un-arrange it,’ he said, sure his head was about to explode.

He’d let her go last night. Let her have the time she needed. But he wasn’t having this. She wasn’t leaving. He wouldn’t let her.

‘I know it’s a few days sooner than we’d planned, but it—’

He crossed to the sink, pulled her round to face him. ‘If this is about last night, I’m not apologising again.’

He was beginning to wonder why he’d apologised at all. It seemed she wasn’t at all cut up about what had happened. Why did that worry him more?

Her chin came up in a gesture of defiance. ‘This has nothing to do with last night. We always agreed this would be temporary. I’m leaving a little sooner than planned, that’s all.’

‘I know we said that, but …’ He trailed off. But what?

She stood in front of him, rigid and unmoved, and yet he could feel his insides roiling like a ship at sea. They
had
said it would be temporary. But somewhere along the line he’d begun to believe it was more. He’d thought she felt something for him. But what if he’d been wrong? What if she felt nothing for him at all?

And as she stood there, unblinking, her chin poking out and her back ramrod straight, he knew with a startling clarity what it was that hadn’t been right last night.

He’d told her a pregnancy would be a disaster—and with barely a hesitation she’d agreed with him. The realisation felt like an arrow shot straight through his heart.

He pulled his hand away as if he’d touched a live flame.

What a fool he’d been. Somewhere in the last ten days, he’d come to believe she thought well of him, that she thought more of him than he’d ever thought of himself. But she didn’t.

He stiffened, the pain an echo of the crushing feeling of rejection that had dogged him throughout his childhood. A bitter reminder of all those people who had taken him in, but had never wanted to keep him.

‘If that’s the way of it, I guess I can’t stop you,’ he said as placidly as possible. ‘I’ll have my PA arrange transport for you to LAX. There’s no need for you to be taking the bus.’ He put just the right note of indifference into his tone.