Night Jasmine (17 page)

Swearing again, Hunter began to pace. Aimee had looked gorgeous. Unbelievably sexy. She'd exchanged her usual blue jeans or cutoffs for a red-and-white striped halter dress in a crisp cotton. The fabric had hugged her breasts, and revealed her smooth shoulders and an alarming expanse of her back. The image of Roberto's hands on Aimee's bare skin filled his head, and Hunter stopped pacing. With his mind's eye he saw the other man's hands moving slowly across her shoulders, easing down her spine. He imagined the man pressing his mouth to the side of her throat, to the curve of a shoulder.

Hunter flexed his fingers, ready to commit murder. If that dark-haired Lothario so much as touched her, Hunter would have his head.

Headlights sliced across the darkness. Hunter turned toward the road, adrenaline pumping through him. The car came into view but didn't slow, didn't turn into the drive. It passed the store, leaving only darkness behind.

Hunter drew in a deep breath, the air heavy with jasmine. The scent teased him. Taunted him. Hunter brought the beer to his lips once more. He wanted to shout, wanted to hit something. He wanted to kiss Aimee until she came to her senses.

And realized what? Aimee had been right. He didn't belong here; he had nothing to offer her. The time had come for him to go home.

But none of that meant a damn right now. He couldn't have Aimee with another man. He didn't have a clue what he was going to do about it, how he was going to stop her, he only knew he had to.

With a last look at the dark road, Hunter went in search of another beer.

* * *

Aimee folded her hands in her lap and looked sightlessly out the car window. Hunter had never shown up at the
fais-dodo.
She'd watched for him, waited for him, the breath of expectation hot and tight in her chest.

She'd seen her father. He'd made quite a commotion when he'd wheeled into the hall. Friends and neighbors, people from all over the parish who had known him all his life, rushed to express their happiness at seeing him out and to wish him well. It had brought tears to her eyes, and she had seen that he, too, had been moved. His eyes had been bright, his hands shaky.

Of course, he'd only glared at her and Roberto. Particularly Roberto. Aimee shook her head, breathing a sigh of relief as Roberto turned into her driveway. When her father got an idea in his head, it was there to stay. Roberto didn't have a chance with him.

Or with her. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. It was too bad. Roberto was sweet. And attentive. He deserved more than a woman who was with him only in the hopes of falling out of love with another man; he deserved better than a woman who desired him only to make another jealous.

There, she thought, her chest tightening. She'd admitted it. A part of the reason she'd said yes to Roberto's invitation had been in the hope that she would make Hunter jealous. In the hope that her dating would force him to make…a move. To realize some things.

If there was even anything for him to realize.

Hysterical laughter bubbled to her lips. How much lower could she sink? To have used another man that way was immature, sophomoric. She twisted her fingers together. It was despicable.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Roberto murmured, pulling the car to a stop beside her house. He cut off the engine and headlights.

Hunter had said those same words to her only days before. The day she'd realized that nothing had changed, that she still loved Hunter to the exclusion of everything, even good sense.

The memory brought an ache and she lowered her eyes. “You'd be wasting your money,” she said, hearing the wistfulness in her own voice and wondering if Roberto did, too.

“I do not think so.” Turning toward her, Roberto reached across the seat and covered her hands with one of his own. “I had a good time tonight.”

“I did, too.”

He squeezed her hands. “What is wrong,
chère?
I have known you since you were a
petite-fille,
and tonight you were not yourself.”

She looked down at their hands, then up at him, her eyes bright with tears. “It's complicated. I…there's someone else.”

“Your `old friend' from California?”

She flushed. “How did you know?”

He smiled sadly and withdrew his hand. “I have eyes.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It is I who is sorry. If it doesn't work out, call me. I will be here.”

“Thank you.”

Roberto got out of the car and came around to open the door for her. She alighted from the vehicle and together they walked toward the house.

“You don't have to see me up,” she said as they stopped at the base of the gallery steps. Her father had left a light burning inside, its gentle glow illuminated the steps and door.

Roberto leaned toward her and lightly brushed his mouth against hers. “Good night,
chère.
”

Her heart heavy, Aimee watched as he climbed back into his car and drove off. When his taillights had disappeared from view, she sighed and started up the steps. Why couldn't she love him? Life would be so much simpler. So much easier.

“Hello, Aimee.”

She caught her breath in surprise and swung toward the darkest edge of the gallery. Hunter stood by the porch swing, a can of Dixie beer in his hand. “You startled me.”

“Evidently.” He lifted the can to his lips, took a long swallow, then set the can on the swing. “How was your…date?”

Her hackles rose at the sarcasm in his voice. “It was great,” she said. “Fabulous.”

“I could tell by your good-night kiss.”

She told herself to say good-night and go inside. She folded her arms across her chest and inched her chin up instead. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, you could hardly stand to have him touch you.”

She caught her breath as anger, white-hot, shot through her. How dare he spy on her? How dare he stand there and smugly tell her what she felt? She curled her hands into fists, the urge to slap him charging through her.

“I don't think much of your assessment of my feelings,” she murmured. “In fact, I don't think you could see how I felt if I was wearing a sign.”

Hunter stepped out of the shadows and into the soft circle of light that tumbled from the window. In his eyes she saw violence, tightly leashed. The same anger, she knew, was mirrored in her own eyes.

“Did he touch you?”

“Waiting up for me, Hunter? Like a worried father?” She lifted her eyebrows, the cool gesture the antithesis of the emotion churning inside her. “Or a jealous lover?”

“Don't push me, Aimee.” He took a step toward her. “I asked you a question.”

“Mr. Cool might lose it. That would be a first.” She angled her head back, knowing she was playing with fire but not giving a damn. “I'm so scared.”

He moved closer, stopping so close she had tip her head back to meet his eyes. Heat blazed in them. “Did he touch you?” he asked again.

“I don't kiss and tell.”

“And I warned you not to push me.” He cupped her face, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Did he?”

“Go home,” she whispered, bringing her hands to his chest. “You've no claim on me. No right to be jealous.” In a mockery of her own words, she clenched her fingers into the soft weave of his shirt, anchoring
herself to him. Beneath her palm, his heart thundered. “I want you to leave me and Oliver alone.”

Hunter laughed, the sound hard. “Liar. When I touch you, your body gives you away. The last thing you want is for me to leave you alone.” He pressed closer, cementing their bodies. “What you did tonight…don't do it again. You belong to me, Aimee.”

“I don't.” She tried to shake her head in denial, but his hands held her captive. “I want to marry Roberto or someone like him, someone who's alive. Someone who can feel something besides pain.”

“You're mine,” he repeated firmly, moving his hands to her hair, wrapping his fingers in the heavy, dark strands.

“No.” She pushed against his chest, hating him for his words, hating herself because they were true. Furious, she met his eyes. “I stopped feeling anything for you long ago, Hunter. I stopped wanting you, stopped loving you.”

“Mistake, Aimee,” he muttered. “Big…big mistake.”

A moment later, his mouth crashed down on hers, capturing her denials, taking her by surprise. If not for his hands in her hair, the force of his kiss would have sent her stumbling backward.

But she didn't stumble, didn't retreat. She met his force with her own, curving her fingers around his shoulders, digging at him with her nails. Punishing him because he hadn't left the past alone, because she still loved him. And punishing him because loving him was a dead-end street.

He tore his mouth from hers, his breath coming in short gasps. He loosened his fingers, caressing now instead of bruising. “If you had simply told me to leave, I would have. But to tell me you feel nothing for me…” He spanned her neck with his hands, softly stroking her throbbing pulse points. “We both know that's a lie.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I don't want it to be.”

“I know. I don't either.” He inched her backward, out of the circle of light, until her back pressed against the side of the house. The shadows and the scent of the jasmine, thick and ripe, enfolded them. “But, heaven help me, I want you.”

He flattened himself against her. The cypress siding bit into her back, her shoulder blades. He pressed his mouth to her neck, tasting. A soft sigh of pleasure slipped from her lips, mingling with the sultry sounds of the night. Nipping, exploring, he trailed his mouth across her collarbone, to the roundness of her shoulder. He nudged aside the strap of her dress to tease the vulnerable beginning of a breast. She curved her hands around his shoulders and arched against him.

“Tell me what's next, Slick,” he murmured against her shoulder. “Tell me where this is going. It's your call.”

Aimee flexed her fingers as the sensations whirled over her, memories with them. Of how wonderful it could be between them, how exciting. She hadn't been with a man since Hunter, hadn't had the desire. But now, desire curled through her, impossibly heavy, unbearably hot. She leaned voluntarily against the siding, giving him more room to touch her, telling him without words what she wanted.

Hunter unfastened the button that held up her halter top, then peeled the fabric slowly away. The cool night air kissed her breasts a moment before he did. As his mouth touched her flesh, she arched into him, a soft cry of pleasure shuddering past her lips.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, cupping her breasts, lifting them for his mouth.

He caught one erect nipple, laving, nipping, then the other. She squeezed her eyes shut. It had been so long since a man had touched her. Since this man had touched her. She loved him, she always had. Hopeless or not, she was his.

Aimee arched more, higher, wanting to increase the contact of his mouth on her flesh. She stood on tiptoe, not realizing at first that he was pulling away from her.

Confused, she opened her eyes and found him gazing at her. Waiting. “What?” she whispered, curving her hands around his neck, clinging to him. “Why… did you…stop?”

Hunter searched her expression. He saw her longing, her confusion. He brought a hand to her cheek and stroked. She tipped her face into the caress and his chest tightened almost unbearably. She was so beautiful. So sweet and giving. If only he were a free man. Free from the past, from pain.

He could take what she offered, but not without first giving her a choice. An out. He would never be able to forgive himself if he did otherwise.

“I'm not going to make love to you just because you're willing,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “It wouldn't be fair. To either of us.” His slid his hands to her hair. The inky strands slid over and through his fingers. “Nothing is really changed, Aimee. And we're both going to have regrets. If we do make love…if we don't. It's a matter of degree.”

He placed his hands over her breasts once more, acknowledging that depending on her answer, it may be for the last time. “I know what I want, Aimee. What about you? Do you know what you want?”

Aimee gazed back at him. She should say no. She should tell him goodbye. But she wanted this man. He was the only man she'd ever wanted. And tomorrow could be too late.

She covered his hands with her own. “Make love with me,” she whispered. “I want us to be lovers again.”

“Thank God,” Hunter murmured, releasing a pent-up breath he hadn't even realized he held. “I was afraid you'd say no.”

“How could I?” She smiled tremulously. “You were right. When you touch me I can deny you nothing.”

With a sound of triumph, Hunter lowered his mouth to hers.

Their lips met and parted, their tongues twined and tasted. He wrapped his fingers in her hair, she threaded hers through his.

“It's been so long,” he muttered against her lips, urgency clawing at him.

“So long,” she repeated, just as impatient. “Love me, Hunter. Love me.”

His hands were everywhere then, molding, frantic with wanting, frantic from the wait. He tugged up the full skirt of her dress and slid his hand underneath. Aimee moaned against his mouth as he roamed his hand up the back of her thigh, then around to the front. She moaned again as he found her.

Hunter drew in a deep breath, desperate for control. Her skin was incredibly warm, unbelievably smooth. And impossibly, she was ready for him.

Groaning, he took her mouth. He had no control. He'd waited too long—another minute would be an impossibility, another moment agony. Curling his fingers around the waistband of her panties, he yanked them over her hips and down.

Hunter retrieved the scrap of lace and slipped it into his pocket, then pressed her back against the wall. He found her once more, sinking his fingers into her moist center. She cried out and arched against his hand.