Jo Goodman (17 page)

"What—"

His face was near enough to hers that he could feel her breath. She was searching it, not afraid, merely uncertain. "Close your eyes."

She did.

That was when he kissed her.

Chapter 5

Jonna felt the heat of his mouth a moment before he kissed her. She could have pulled away or turned her head or pushed at Decker's shoulders. It even registered in some remote area of her brain that any of those responses would be acceptable. She did none of those things.

Her lips parted instead. His mouth was warm, his touch gently exploring. He changed position, tilting his head, and pressed the kiss from another direction. His tongue swept her upper lip, then the lower one. He teased her by running it along the ridge of her teeth, but never pushing its entry.

It was Jonna who leaned into the kiss. A small sound at the back of her throat signaled her frustration, and she could sense the shape of his smile against her lips. When his tongue slid along the sensitive underside of her lip, she engaged him with a like response. She had the satisfaction of knowing the smile vanished.

She caught a hint of tea and lemon on her tongue and realized it was the taste of him. The kiss somehow seemed more intimate, her awareness of his touch more complete. Her senses were opened now to the warmth and fragrance of his skin, the sound of his breathing. Only her sense of sight went unsatisfied, and she knew it would have to remain that way. If she opened her eyes this would end.

God help her, she thought. She didn't want this to end.

Decker felt the swell of passion in her. Her responses echoed his own as she returned his kiss full measure. The press of his mouth became hungrier and more demanding, and Jonna didn't shy away. His hands had settled on her waist when she leaned into him. Now they grazed her sides slowly, his fingers sliding up her back. Decker felt her stiffen, but he didn't release her and she didn't ask him to. He swallowed her small gasp as his thumbs passed once over her breasts.

Layers of clothing were of little consequence. Decker felt her nipples rise and harden before he cupped the undersides of her breasts; then his hands slid higher, this time across her upper arms and shoulders. He held her face for a moment, deepening the kiss just once before he raised his head.

Her lush mouth still invited him. He touched her closed eyes instead, briefly, lightly, then he let his hands fall back to her shoulders and finally freed her.

It was ending anyway, Jonna thought. Even with her eyes closed it was ending.

She blinked once. His hands were at his sides, but she could still feel them on her arms, at her waist, and then ever so gently on her throat. Her mouth bore the imprint of his, and she resisted the urge to raise her fingers to seal it there. The warmth and fragrance of him clung to her. She knew she would breathe it tonight when she went to bed. And finally there was a faint roar in her ears that made her deaf to the thrumming of her own heart.

Jonna didn't look away from him. His eyes grazed her face, watching, searching. He wasn't smiling. He just seemed to be waiting.

Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Grant didn't want me. I offered myself and he didn't want me."

Decker said nothing. A muscle worked in his cheek.

"I'm not certain I even like you," she said.

"I know." He said it softly, without a trace of humor.

Then why,
she wanted to say,
why did I explore your mouth with my tongue? Why did I let you touch me? Why would I let you do it again right
now?
Jonna's hands rested quietly on her lap. She looked down at them, willing her heart to be as steady and still. "I don't think you should kiss me anymore," she said.

"You're probably right."

Jonna wasn't certain she welcomed his agreement this time. She stole a glance at him. "It was an experiment for you, wasn't it? You wanted to see what I would do."

The slightest smile edged Decker's mouth, but his eyes remained grave. "Not the way you think," he said.

She frowned, wondering what he meant.

Decker cupped the underside of Jonna's chin and raised her face. He spoke to clear her troubled expression. "You should never doubt that you inspire passion."

Jonna's violet eyes cleared, and the crease between her brows vanished. She felt a tide of color and heat wash her cheeks. The words were out of her mouth before she had a clear thought of them in her head. "Did you want me?" she asked. "I mean, did you—"

Decker's grin finally came to the forefront, and it silenced Jonna. He lowered his hand and levered himself back against the headboard. "Never say you didn't know."

But she hadn't. "I just thought..." Her voice trailed away uncertainly. She didn't know what she thought.

Decker plumped the pillows behind his back. There was a newspaper on the nightstand. He picked it up and pretended interest in it. "Go to bed, Jonna," he said. The grin was gone again, and he did not look at her. "You may not like how I answer the rest of your questions."

* * *

It was at breakfast the next morning that Jonna learned Decker was gone. She surprised Mrs. Davis by not insisting that someone be sent to bring him back. "Jack will look after him," she said and the subject was closed.

When she saw Jack Quincy at her offices she only inquired briefly after Decker's health. Assured he was resting comfortably in his rented room, she didn't mention him again. Jonna found it easier not to think about Decker Thorne if she didn't have to talk about him. Her cool, rather remote expression whenever his name was brought up encouraged the silence of others.

Grant Sheridan returned from Charleston one week before Christmas. Jonna was hardly aware that he had overstayed the expected length of his voyage south. He was the one who reminded her he had hoped to return days earlier.

"What's wrong?" he asked as they retired to the salon. Grant caught her inside the room when she closed the doors and held her in his arms. "You've been very quiet this evening. I confess I had expected a warmer welcome."

Jonna raised her face. She saw his eyes drop to her lips. He looked at her mouth a long time before he lowered his head. Even though she knew that she didn't love him, Jonna wondered if she could learn to like Grant's kiss. She surprised them both by turning her head at the last moment and giving him her cheek.

"Jonna?" Grant said.

She eased out of his arms and put some distance between them. His eyes were very dark now, almost black, but they watched her without expression. She had no sense of whether he was hurt by her response or annoyed.

Jonna turned to the small pie table where the tea service had been placed. She picked up the silver pot and realized her hands were shaking.

"I think I'd prefer a more substantial drink," Grant said.

His voice came from immediately behind her. Jonna put the pot down slowly and smoothed the front of her gray silk dress. She found herself taking a deep, calming breath.

"Of course," she said. "In the sideboard." She waited, expecting him to go get it or to move out of her way. Caught between the table and Grant's powerful frame, Jonna couldn't take a step without bumping into one of them.

Grant placed his hands on the curve of Jonna's shoulders. Her silk gown was smooth and cool beneath his palms. Her skin would feel that way, he thought. He leaned forward, bent his head, and touched his lips to the side of her neck. He had been right. Smooth and cool.

Jonna closed her eyes. His hands lay heavily on her shoulders. He didn't force her to turn, but the weight of them kept her in place. His breath was hot, his mouth faintly damp. She felt a tug on her flesh as he sipped her skin. The knowledge that he was going to leave a mark there, like a brand, made her stomach turn over. She did not want him to touch her. "Grant," she said. "I don't want—"

That was when he twisted her in his arms. She thought later that it was almost as if her protest had excited him. At the moment it was happening she couldn't think at all. His mouth closed over hers hard. It was an act of ownership, of possession, and Jonna recoiled at the stamp of his lips on hers. She pushed at his shoulders, but her strength had no impact on his solid frame. At her back she felt the edge of the table.

Jonna bit his lip.

Grant's head snapped back. He tasted blood on the inside of his mouth. Letting go of Jonna, he took out a handkerchief and raised it to his lips. "What was that for?" he demanded, his black eyes cold and flat.

Jonna slipped sideways, out of his reach. Even though his voice was muffled by the handkerchief, it lost none of its angry edge. "I'll get your brandy," she said quietly.

"Forget the brandy. Tell me why I deserved that."

Jonna's chin lifted a fraction, and she regarded him steadily. "I didn't want you to kiss me," she said. "I don't think I want you to touch me at all." Before he could respond she continued quickly. "Please, won't you sit down? You asked me what was wrong. I think perhaps I can tell you."

Except to lower his handkerchief and tuck it away, Grant didn't move. "I think perhaps you had better," he said.

Jonna realized that he was not going to make it easy for her. She couldn't fault him for that. He deserved better than what she could offer him. "I don't love you," she said. "I'm sorry, Grant, but I never have and I don't believe I've misled you on that account. You know that I admire you, respect you, and value your counsel. I will always appreciate your friendship." She glanced at the floor a moment, gathering the threads of her composure. When she faced him again her voice was surprisingly steady. "It's not enough for a marriage. It never will be. Not for me."

"Jonna." There was a hint of condescension in his tone, as if he thought she didn't know her own mind. "What's happened while I've been gone? This isn't where we left things."

"Nothing's happened." It wasn't entirely the truth, but there was no explaining Decker Thorne to Grant. Not when she didn't fully understand that encounter herself. "And it's precisely where we left things. I don't believe I can say it more clearly. We're not engaged. You're not my fiancé. We will never be married." Jonna watched color leave Grant's face. It was his only visible reaction. "Please, Grant, I'm sorry. You must know I wish it could be different. I wish
I
could be different."

He took a step toward her and stopped when she immediately backed away. "Are you afraid of me, Jonna?" he asked. "Have I given you some reason to fear me?"

"No," she said. "No to both your questions."

He raised one eyebrow, his look patently skeptical. To prove his point he took another step forward. While Jonna didn't move he saw the effort it took on her part to stand her ground.

"It's not what you think," she said. "I don't want you kissing me again. You seem to believe you can change my reasoning that way."

"Can't I?"

"No."

Grant studied her for a moment longer. Every line of her slender frame was set stubbornly, and her mouth was mutinously flat. "I wonder who you're trying to convince," he said. He didn't let her answer. "I think I'll have that brandy now."

Jonna turned to the sideboard only as Grant sat down. She poured the brandy, served him, and then took tea for herself. She took the wing chair at an angle from the settee, guaranteeing he could not choose to sit beside her. "I'd like us to remain friends," she said finally.

"And business associates."

"Of course."

"But not partners."

Jonna didn't know if he was speaking of marriage or business. She supposed it didn't matter. Her answer was the same to both. "No," she said. "Not partners."

Grant regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his snifter. "I see," he said.

But Jonna did not think he sounded convinced. She was wondering what more she could say when the doors to the salon opened. Mrs. Davis stood on the threshold with a young black girl at her side. The girl wasn't touching the housekeeper in any way, but her posture suggested she was trying to cling to the older woman.

"She's come to take the tray," Mrs. Davis said. "We've practiced what she should do."

Grant glanced over his shoulder at the door and then back at Jonna. He was calm now, his smile was almost teasing. "Another new one, Jonna? You must really find some good help and stay with them. Or is it Mrs. Davis who's the ogre?"