Wild and Wonderful (7 page)

Glenna flattened her hands against his chest to brace herself away from him, but he overpowered this resistance with little effort. His hands spread up her spine to shape her to his length, the slickness of her dress offering little protection from the searing impression made by his hard muscled body.

Unable to elude his embrace, Glenna attempted verbal abuse to gain her release. "You are the most—"

His soft throaty chuckle foretold the futility of that. "I've heard all the adjectives before."

His hand cradled the back of her head to hold it still while his mouth covered her tightly compressed lips. Glenna was frustrated by the lack of brutality in his embrace. There was no punishment in his kiss, only a devouring kind of passion that ate away at her defenses. Neither was she bruised by his hands. It would have been so much easier for her to be repulsed by his embrace if he had been hurting her. Jett didn't need brute force to undermine her resistance.

When Glenna reached the point where she could no longer remain stiff in his arms and let her body become pliant against his, Jett eased his mouth from her lips. "Shall I turn the other cheek so you can slap it?"

She lowered her gaze from his sensually expert mouth to the white collar of his dress shirt, its paleness standing out sharply against the tan of his throat and the dark material of his suit. Her heartbeat was slow to return to its normal rate; so was her breathing.

"If you knew my father, you wouldn't have made the insinuation that angered me into slapping you the first time." Her voice was low, its pitch still disturbed by his kisses. "My father never 'hustled' anyone in his life."

"Perhaps 'hustle' was a bad choice of verbs," Jett conceded and loosened the enclosing circle of his arms to permit more breathing room between them. "But I know when I'm being primed."

Glenna felt a prickle of discomfort because she knew it was true. "I'm not certain that I know what you mean by that, but my father is an honest man." She could look him in the eye and say that.

"I don't recall implying that he wasn't," he returned evenly and let his gaze run over her face. "Mainly I'm curious what part you play in his plans."

"None. I'm just here if he needs me," Glenna shrugged because moral support was the limit of her involvement. She had never taken an active part in his business affairs. It would be a poor time to become involved now when skillful negotiations were required, and she was a bungling amateur.

Jett didn't appear totally convinced by her reply, but seemed willing to withhold judgment. The corners of his mouth deepened in a dry smile as his arms slid from her to let her stand free.

"Do you think he will need you?" he mused.

Without the warmth of his body heat, Glenna shivered. She was beyond coping with his double-edged questions. "It's getting cool. I think I'll go in now."

If she expected a protest from Jett there was none forthcoming. "I'll walk with you."

They retraced their path to the inn in silence. He stayed at her side until she reached the elevator. He saw her safely inside and punched the button to her floor.

"Good night, Glenna." He used her given name easily, but she didn't have time to reciprocate before the doors slid closed.

In her room Glenna knocked once on the connecting door to her father's suite. There was only silence on the other side. She hesitated, then opened the door to look in. She tiptoed to the bed where her father was sleeping peacefully, so she didn't waken him. It was a while before she fell asleep.

THE RINGING of the telephone wakened her the next morning. She groped blindly for the receiver as she tried to shake the sleep from her senses.

"Yes?" Her voice sounded as thick as her tongue felt.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," her father's cheerful voice admonished. "Rise and shine."

Glenna let her head fall back on the pillow while managing to keep the phone to her ear.

"What time is it?" She frowned drowsily.

"Eight A.M."

"Why did you call me? Why didn't you just knock on the door?" She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the sleep out of them.

"I'm downstairs, that's why. I've been up for a couple of hours, took an early morning stroll. I thought I might run into Coulson, but I understand he ordered breakfast in his room." The reference to Jett blinked Glenna's eyes open wide with the memory of last night. "Are you going to join me for breakfast or do I have to eat alone?"

"I'll be down, but dad…" Glenna hesitated. "Don't try to see Jett until I've had a chance to talk to you."

"Why?" There was a puzzled note in his voice.

"I'll explain it all when I come down. Just give me a few minutes to wash my face and get dressed."

In all it took Glenna a fast twenty minutes to wash, put on fresh makeup, and don a pair of wheat-tan slacks with a matching knit top in narrow stripes of cream and tan. Her father was already seated at a table when she joined him in the restaurant for breakfast.

"What did you mean on the phone? Why do you need to talk to me?" her father queried almost before she had scooted her chair up to the table.

Briefly Glenna explained about Jett accompanying her on the walk last night, leaving out the intimate details of the kiss. "He suspects that you're setting him up for something," she concluded.

"He said that?" A troubled frown puckered his brow.

"To be precise, he said he knew he was being primed."

"Mmm." Orin Reynolds thought for a moment. "I don't want him to get the impression that I'm some kind of shyster, so I'll have to be more direct with him. Otherwise he won't believe that I want to make a legitimate business proposition."

"That's what I felt," she agreed.

"I had hoped to get on friendlier terms with him before making my proposal, but that's out," he sighed, then sent her a thin smile. "Thanks for the warning."

The waitress came to take their orders, but her arrival didn't affect their conversation. They had already finished their discussion. It was a quiet meal with her father lost in his own thoughts

There wasn't any sign of Jett around the hotel that morning. They didn't see him until lunchtime when they were seated at a table in the restaurant. Glenna saw him enter the room and managed a whispered, "Dad," to draw her father's attention to the tall black-haired man approaching their table.

"Good afternoon." Jett's greeting encompassed both of them, a greeting that they echoed. Without any further preliminaries, he rested a hand on the back of Glenna's chair and leaned the other one on the table to face her at right angles. That caressing and intense look was in his eyes that made her feel she was someone special as he directed all of his attention to her. "Would you like to play a game of tennis this afternoon? I have a court reserved for two o'clock."

His closeness had a heady effect on her. She glanced at her father to escape the spell Jett was casting over her. Her father mistook the glance, believing that she was seeking his permission.

"Go ahead and enjoy yourself. I'll find something to keep me amused," he insisted.

"Two o'clock then." Jett repeated the time in confirmation of her decision.

"I'll be there." Glenna nodded.

As Jett straightened to leave her father spoke up. "There is a business matter I would like to discuss with you when you have time."

Jett eyed her father with a knowing half-smile. "I would be available at four-thirty, if that suits you."

"It's fine." There was a wealth of confidence in Orin Reynolds's expression, every bit equal to Jett's. "My suite or yours."

"Yours."

Glenna remembered, "I don't have a tennis racket."

"I'll get one for you," Jett promised and moved away with a waving flick of his hand. He walked over to join two men that Glenna recognized as having attended the dinner the previous night, obviously two of his guests.

"Well, all my cards will be spread on the table by five this afternoon," her father stated with a resigned sigh.

"What do you think he will do?" Glenna picked up her glass of ice water and sipped at it to cool the heat coursing through her veins, ail the while keeping track of Jett's movements over the rim of her glass.

"That is one man I wouldn't begin to second-guess," her father declared and crumpled the linen cloth protecting his lap, depositing it on the tabletop. "If you are ready to leave, I am."

Glenna's answer was to push her chair back and stand up. After they had left the restaurant they returned to their suite of rooms so Glenna could change into her tennis clothes. She could hear her father prowling around in his adjoining room, alternately sitting and pacing. His tension become contagious. Everything they had rested on the outcome of his meeting with Jett this afternoon.

Wearing a white headband to keep the hair out of her eyes, she arrived at the tennis courts. Jett was waiting for her. He gestured to a trio of rackets. "Take your pick."

She tried each of them before choosing the second one. Her nerves felt as taut as the racket strings, a combination of apprehension for their financial situation and the increasing havoc Jett was raising with her senses.

When they had taken the court Glenna agreed with his suggestion to loosen up with a few practice volleys. Usually she was an above-average player, but she was lacking concentration. In consequence she started out playing badly.

Halfway through the first set Glenna hadn't scored once. What was more damning to her pride was the knowledge that Jett was not trying to score. When she managed to get her serve in, he returned it and kept a slow volley going, never trying for a crosscourt or baseline. On her last serve she double-faulted to give him set point.

Angry with herself for playing so poorly, and with him for being so condescending, Glenna barely glanced at him when they switched ends. But he goaded her in passing.

"You'd better get your mind on the game. Your problem is you're not concentrating."

The criticism was a stinging prod. Glenna returned his first serve with a blistering cross-court shot that caught him flat-footed. From that point on her game improved. Yet she was never equal to Jett. He would let her draw close, even win a game or two, but each time the match was in jeopardy, he'd slam home a shot that she couldn't return.

The strong competitive streak within Glenna refused to let her quit. Jett was controlling the game, running her legs off, but she kept battling until he won the match point. Perspiration ran in rivulets down her neck as she walked in defeat toward the net. Winded, she was gripping her side while he vaulted the net, barely out of breath.

"Congratulations." The handshake she offered him was limp, as exhausted as her voice.

"Tired?" There was a taunting smile in his tone.

Resentment flared wearily in her gray green eyes as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Turning, she walked slowly off the court, aware that Jett fell in step with her.

"You could have annihilated me," she accused. "Wiped me off the court anytime you wanted. I don't like the idea that you were just toying with me, playing cat and mouse."

"It seemed more of a contest, didn't it?" he handed her a towel.

"I don't think you even worked up a sweat," Glenna complained, her voice partially muffled by the towel she used to wipe her face.

"I did," he assured her on a lazy note. "You are a pretty good player when you concentrate."

"No mouse likes to be patronized." She draped the towel around her neck, letting the ends hang down the front.

"I have never seen a mouse with chestnut hair before or a temper to match it," Jett chided with a wicked glint in his eye.

Her breath had returned to a more even rate. She lifted her head to look at him. "I'm not really a sore loser, although it might sound like that. It's just that…being allowed to come close is almost as bad as being allowed to win," she explained. "What satisfaction is there if you know someone let you do it."

"You have a valid point." His hands caught the ends of her towel, pulling her closer to him. With each breath she inhaled his earthy male scent, heightened by perspiration and the heat of exertion. It did funny things to her pulse. "But it wasn't my intention to appear patronizing. You are a fierce competitor. I felt you were entitled to some kind of reward for your efforts. You just wouldn't give up."

"I never quit." It was unthinkable.

Jett wiped her cheek with an end of her towel, managing to give the impression of a caress. "I realize that."

Then his hand was under her chin, lifting it so his mouth could claim her lips. Glenna tasted the salty flavor of him in the moist union of their lips as she swayed against the hard support of his length. She was still thirsting for more of his kisses when he slowly drew away from her clinging lips.

"I suppose you mentioned to your father what we discussed last night. Is that why he asked to meet me this afternoon?" Jett murmured.

Dammit! He was doing it again. Catching her off guard with her senses drugged by the potency of his kisses. Glenna straightened from him, containing her anger with an effort.

"Yes, I told him about your misguided suspicions," she admitted since there wasn't any point in lying. "I think he wants to meet you to correct the impression you were forming about him."