My Man Pendleton (33 page)

Uh-oh. Blues. Touchy music. Feely music. Sexy music. No chance they'd be marimba-ing to that.

"Oh, Kiiiiit," he called out, his voice a gentle cajole. "I'm waaaiiitiiinnng."

When, precisely, the earth had shifted on its axis, she supposed she would never be able to say. She only knew that one minute, everything in her life was neat and orderly and well within her control, and the next minute, a whipcord of delicious possibility was slapping at the very edge of her soul. And in spite of its sting, there was something very appealing about the pull.

As she pushed open the door and passed through it, Kit reminded herself that there was still time to scoop her shoes off the floor and hie herself out the back door, safely into the night, regardless of its mushiness. But she ignored the three-inch heels as she passed them, and focused instead on the man who stood center stage in the living room beyond.

It was just a dance, she told herself. Hey, she could handle that. She'd been dancing since she was eight years old, and had put all the instructors she'd ever had to shame. Kit McClellan was nothing in this life, if not an absolute expert at dancing.

Unfortunately for her, though, Pendleton had pulled her well into his arms before she realized that
dancing
was the
last
thing he had on his mind.

Chapter 15

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S
he discovered that the minute he tugged her forward and crowded her body into his, roping his arms around her waist and back with
way
too much familiarity. Hey, just what kind of girl did he think she was?

Okay, so once she'd offered him money to marimba with her.
Lots
of women offered men money to marimba, didn't they? And okay, so she'd broken into his house and climbed naked into bed with him. Like that didn't happen every night of the week to guys in some countries. And okay, so she'd kind of been cohabitating with him against his will for more than a month now. What man didn't experience something like that at least once in his life?

Did those things give Pendleton the right to question her moral steadfastness? No, they most certainly did not. Hadn't he been watching Lifetime Television? Hadn't he seen any of those Nike commercials? Didn't he know that a woman could do things like that these days if she wanted to, without fear of being labeled loose and immoral and up for hanky-panky?

The righteous indignation she was trying so desperately to corral
evaporated
completely
when Kit
felt one of his hands venturing in a decidedly southern direction. So she reached behind herself to halt his progress, curling her fingers softly around his wrist before scooting his hand back up to the small of her back. But Pendleton, clearly not one to be put off so easily, only retraced the journey with his other hand. So she reached
her
other hand back, as well, and repeated the service.

Unfortunately, putting both hands behind her back that way left her arching her front toward Pendleton. Too late, she realized how intimately her breasts skimmed against his chest. Too late, she noted how salaciously her torso pressed into those hard-as-rock abs of his. Too late, she saw how cordially her libido jumped up to greet his with a heartfelt howdy-do.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she asked, trying not to notice the way her heart was jumping around in her chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, didn't I make that obvious?" he
murmured
.
He twined his fingers easily with hers at the small of her back and, with a single, gentle nudge, pushed her closer still, so that she felt his heart galloping erratically against her own.

"Um, no," she lied. "I'm afraid you didn't make it obvious at all."

"Gee, just goes to show you how long it's been since I found myself in this position," he said softly, dipping his head ever so slightly toward hers.

"Wh-what position?" she asked.

His lips curved into an oh-so-suggestive smile as he lifted one shoulder and let it drop. "Trying to show a woman how much I want to make love to her."

"Eh-eh-excuse me?" she stammered.

In response, he moved his head a little bit closer to hers, then began to sway their bodies in time to the leisure rhythm of the music. And as he brought Kit along for the ride, she was helpless to do anything but follow him, so addled had she become by the closeness of him, the scent of him, the heat of him. He backed himself slowly, slowly, oh-so-slowly toward the solitary lamp lit in the room, then released one of her hands to switch it off.

Before she had a chance to protest, he immediately settled his hand at her waist again. He raked his fingers down along her hip to her thigh before cupping her leg with much affection, then he skimmed his hand back up, to curve it gently over her fanny. And as she opened her free hand lightly over his chest, whatever objection Kit had been about to utter got completely stuck in her throat.

The softly flickering fire in the hearth sent a pale glow dancing over them, as if the flames, too, were caught up in the subtle to-and-fro of the music. The changing yellow glimmer threw Pendleton's face first into stark clarity and then into deep shade, a play of light and dark that kept her from ever knowing for sure what he was thinking about. His eyes were fixed on her face, but for some reason, she suddenly didn't mind so much his scrutiny. The darkness, she knew, hid the shortcomings of Mother Nature. And besides, she really wanted to look at his face, too.

Gradually, she forgot about everything, except for the way his fingers tripped lightly over her fanny, her hip, her back. Except for the warm breath that caressed her forehead. Except for the stampeding of his heart against hers.

"You are so beautiful."

His words erupted like a barrage of artillery between them, exploding in Kit's belly with all the heat and force of a cannon shot. For one brief, lunatic second, she actually believed what he said. Then she came to her senses, and with a forced and difficult humor, she laughed off his comment.

"Spoken like a man dancing in the dark," she said softly, uncertainly, striving for a levity she was nowhere close to feeling. "Light a candle, Pendleton. You'll get over it."

"I mean it, Kit. I don't know why I'm just now noticing it, but you really are very beautiful."

She swallowed hard. "Yeah, well, so is a big chunk of coal to a man who's been freezing to death for a while," she told him quietly.

He said nothing, only hooked his hands loosely at the small of her back and continued to gaze down at her face in the darkness. And as he did, something inside Kit kindled and caught fire, the flames flickering and licking at her belly until she wasn't sure she could stand the heat. And, God help her, as hard as she tried not to, she found herself wanting desperately to believe what he'd said.

"Don't do this to me, Pendleton," she petitioned softly.

He gazed at her in silence for a taut moment before asking very quietly, "Do what?"

She wanted to look away, but was helpless to do anything but meet his gaze. "I made a vow a long time ago that I'd never make love to a man again unless I was in love with him, and he was in love with me."

"And your point would be?"

The fire in her belly leaped higher, burned hotter. Surely he wasn't suggesting what he seemed to be suggesting. Surely he wasn't saying that they were
…
that the two of them had
…

"My point would be that I don't love you and you don't love me," she stated emphatically.

There. She'd said it out loud. And it hadn't been nearly as painful as she'd thought it would be.

"You're pretty quick to make that assumption," Pendleton said. "Why can't we be in love?"

She bit back a hopeful sigh. "Get serious."

"I am serious. Why can't we?"

"Okay, I agree that you may be a man in love," she said, proud of the detachment in her tone that she faked very nicely. "A man in love with his ex-wife."

He opened his mouth in what she was sure would be an objection, so she quickly cut him off. "Hey, I've seen the look on your face when you talk about her, Pendleton. I know you're indulging in some fantasy about going up to
New Jersey
with every intention of stopping her wedding. You want to try to seduce me, fine. Try to seduce me. But don't do it by lying to me. Have a little more respect for my intelligence than that, will you?"

In response, he only pulled her closer and began to move their bodies in slow time once again. And as she felt her IQ plummeting, Kit nestled against him, wishing hard that he wasn't such a liar, wishing harder still that she wasn't such a coward.

For a long time, they remained so entwined, through song after song about mistrust and betrayal, until she wasn't sure she could listen to any more. So she piped up impulsively, "How about a little Tito Puente instead? We never did get in that merengue down in
Veranda
Bay
. I brought a few of his CDs with me. They're up in the bedroom. I'll just be a sec."

She tried to extricate herself from Pendleton's embrace as unobtrusively as she could, but for every attempt she made to free herself, he deftly pulled her close again. And then, before she had a chance to utter a single further objection, he began nuzzling her throat and nibbling the curve where her neck joined her shoulder.

"Oh," she cried softly at the unexpected intimacy. "Oh, Pendleton."

"I like this music better," he said, his words a quiet murmur against her bare skin. "It suits my mood."

She was about to suggest another musical alternative—like maybe something along the lines of
Barney Sings the Best of Stephen Sondheim,
anything to completely crush the romantic mood—but Pendleton moved a hand from her back to her rib cage, strumming his fingers slowly and methodically along each one. He didn't stop until he cradled the lower curve of her breast in the ample L-shape of his thumb and forefinger. Then, in one swift, easy motion, he covered her breast completely and palmed the ripening peak.

And then all Kit could do was echo, "Oh,
Pendleton."

It was all the encouragement he needed, evidently. Because with that single, softly uttered sentiment, he took full control of the situation. He skimmed his lips along the line of her jaw, then brushed them once, twice, three times across her open mouth. Kit told herself to
do
something, quickly, before the two of them ended up in a position that her hastily fleeing reason told her would be a very big mistake.

So she did something. She slid her hands up over his chest, curled her fingers over his shoulders, cupped one hand at his nape, and pulled his head down to hers for a more thorough kiss. He was an eager student, falling right into the rhythm she set with the first brush of her mouth over his.

Score one for the heart, she thought. Boy, it looked like reason was going to take a real beating tonight.

"Then again," Pendleton murmured as he ended the kiss and brushed his lips up over her cheek, "maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to go upstairs to the bedroom, after all."

Oh, yeah, Kit thought. At this point, reason was pretty much a goner.

In spite of her conviction, she managed to attempt one final stab at rationality. "I'm not sure this is a very good idea," she said. Then she completely negated the objection by trailing the tip of her tongue along the line of his rough jaw, savoring the fine, salty flavor of him.

"Oh, I think it's an
excellent
idea," he countered, turning his head to catch her tongue in his mouth again.

Somehow, Kit found the strength to pull away one final time. She gazed up into his eyes, wishing, wanting, wavering. And she said, "But I'm not sure I—"

"I'm
sure," he interrupted her. "Just trust me, okay?"

Trust him? she echoed to herself. No, she couldn't do that. What she could do, though, was allow herself the temporary and unwise luxury of pretending to. She'd always been good at pretending where her emotions were concerned. Right after dancing, that was the thing she did best.

Silently, slowly, she nodded her assent. But she almost changed her mind when she saw the feral smile that spread over Pendleton's features.