What the Heart Wants (10 page)

Jase lifted her hand and carried it to his mouth to taste the tender palm, just as he'd wanted to do when he'd given her the roses. “Forever.”

The air-conditioning hit their glistening bodies and Laurel began to shiver, so Jase pulled the sheet up over them.

Then he turned off the overhead and returned to bed.

Because total darkness is also an aphrodisiac.

L
aurel awoke to late morning sunlight streaming through the slits of the blinds. Startled to find herself naked in bed with an equally naked man, she relaxed when she realized he was not just any man, but the man of her dreams.

She sat up against her pillow and rested her arms on her knees to think everything over. She'd made love all night long outside the legal bonds of matrimony, which meant, according to every precept she had grown up with, she was a fallen woman—a slut. She looked toward the window. Maybe she would become the latest town scandal. Who was sleeping with whom might not matter in Hollywood, or even in Dallas, but it did in Bosque Bend, where everybody was into everyone else's business. If her parents were still alive, they'd be mortified.

Her lips tightened in defiance. But they
weren't
alive, and they both had sins of their own to answer for.

She settled back in the bed. Did she herself have any regrets? She looked over at the big man slumbering beside her.

None at all.

Her eyes studied her lover, memorizing him for when he wouldn't be around anymore. The sheet had slipped down past his waist while he slept, revealing his brawny torso, every inch of which she'd explored last night. She'd licked and kissed the large cicatrix on his shoulder as if to heal it, run her fingers along his muscled arms. Jase was an adult now, nicked and scarred, powerfully built and sexually demanding, and everything that was woman in her responded to him.

His jaw had darkened considerably overnight, making him look almost villainous. Dave had always seemed younger when he slept, more boyish and vulnerable, but Jase looked harder and more dangerous. The taut planes and hard angles of his face took on something of a satanic cast, and his unsmiling mouth seem unforgiving and cruel.

Laurel shivered. Last night he was hers, but how long would that last? How would he react when he learned the truth about Daddy? Would he reject her like Dave had? Would he shun her like everybody else in Bosque Bend?

Suddenly afraid, she leaned closer to him, wondering, searching his face for mercy. As if sensing her scrutiny, he opened his eyes and smiled. “So, you're here. It was real.”

Relief surging through her, and she leaned over to kiss him lightly on the forehead, her breasts teasing his mouth.

He pulled her closer, then brought her imprisoned hand down between their bodies for his own purposes. He was turgid and ready, which sent her hormones into overdrive.

He came into her carefully, as if mindful that he'd been rough a couple of times during the night, but she was wet and eager, arching up to receive him. Whatever Jase wanted from her, she would give.

Afterward, he kissed the palm of her hand again, which seemed to be a thing with him, and told her he loved her again. She wondered if he meant it or if that was just his way of expressing gratitude for the use of her body.

They spent what little remained of the morning in bed, playing and experimenting with each other, laughing and talking. Even a day before, Laurel could never have believed she'd feel so much at ease with a man. It was as if they'd been together forever.

“Your hair is soft as silk,” Jase said, weaving his fingers slowly through the sable strands and watching them fall back in place. She'd worn it the same way as a teenager, he remembered. Sixteen years ago, the style had looked sweet and wholesome, but now it looked incredibly sexy.

He moved his hand along the nape of her neck and traced the curve of her ear, enjoying the way she trembled in response.

“I thought you hated me.” His voice was a low-pitched whisper. In fact, he'd spent his last few days in Bosque Bend expecting to be thrown in jail before finally realizing Laurel hadn't told anyone about their encounter.

Cold comfort.
The shame of everyone knowing she'd been touched by Growler Red's lunkhead son probably would have been even worse than what actually happened.

She looked at him in surprise. “I never hated you. I was in love with you, but I was too young for what you wanted back then.” She rolled over on her stomach and looked at him through coyly lowered lashes. “But I'm all grown up now.”

“So I've noticed,” he said, flashing her a wide grin, his mood completely changing. “Hey, this is Sunday morning, and you've missed church!” He gave her a playful slap on the rump. “What would your father say? And how will you explain this lapse to the church council?”

Laurel had a sudden vision of herself, wrapped in her fringed bedspread, standing in front of that august assemblage and solemnly explaining that she hadn't attended services because she'd been rollicking in bed with the historically notorious Jase Redlander all morning. Not that she went to church any more, of course. That avenue of comfort had been rather definitely closed to her. God might be merciful, but his earthly representatives were more circumspect.

Jase leaned back against his pillow, folding his hands behind his head. “You were old enough for love, but not for sex.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Damn, that's something I talk to Lolly about all the time. I guess all of a father's past sins come back to haunt him when he has his own children.” He turned toward Laurel. “Except for
your
father, of course.”

Her eyelids widened slightly, but she didn't flinch. She even managed a slight smile. “
My
father—of course.”

“He gave Maxie and me twenty-five hundred dollars to get a start in Dallas,” Jase continued, looking into space. “It was a godsend, enough to support Lolly when she arrived.”

“I'm glad.” Generosity was one of Daddy's best traits. Unfortunately not all the people to whom he gave money put it to such good use as Jase and Maxie.

His brows drew together at the memory. “Taking care of a baby was hard at first, and neither of us could give her a lot of time. Maybe that's the reason Lolly's so headstrong now. Maxie says first we neglected her, then we spoiled her, but we did the best we could.”

“I think she's darling,” Laurel protested, reaching out to twist a clump of his chest hair into a ringlet. “And most teenagers are headstrong. They're trying their wings, and sometimes they fly, sometimes they flop.”

He claimed her hand and took it to his mouth for a kiss. “I remember how you were, and I always wanted her to be just like you.”

“Was that the reason you gave her my name?”

Jase looked embarrassed. “So, she told you about that.” He moved his hands in a gesture of apology. “I guess I shouldn't have hijacked your name, but I never thought you and Lolly would meet.” His eyebrows went up in question. “Are you…offended?”

She couldn't help but smile. “Of course not. I'm honored. But you know that's one of the reasons she thought I was her mother.”

“Yeah. She went through that damn annual and found your picture.”

Laurel drew a circle on his shoulder with her finger, wondering how far she could explore the subject of Lolly's maternity. “I'm—I'm not sure it's any of my business, but did her birth mother name her?”

Jase's mouth twisted and his voice hardened. “She never bothered to give her a name. And she didn't use her own name on the birth certificate either, although she had no compunctions about giving
my
name out. The midwife tracked me down in Dallas, presented me with the baby, and disappeared. We had to get a DNA test to be sure Girl Child was mine.” He turned to Laurel again. “Lolly didn't have a very good start in life, so I wanted her to have the very best name I could think of, sort of like a magic amulet.”

Laurel sat up, pulling the sheet up around her breasts. It was hard to have a serious discussion with her nipples on high alert. “Wouldn't it be easier to tell Lolly the truth about her mother, whatever she did?”

He sighed, rolled to the side of the bed, and sat up. “It would be easier for me, but harder for her. I've got to wait till she's older.”

She decided to push it a little further. “Jase, who was Lolly's mother? Did I know her? Was it…Betty Jean Powell?”

Betty Jean, who always sat in the back of the class and tried to copy other people's tests. Laurel's crowd ignored her like she was wallpaper, but, looking back, Laurel had a dim memory of a small, narrow-faced girl, thin as a rail, who never had enough lunch money and frequently came to school with purple bruises on her arms.

A pang of guilt swept through her. If she'd seen marks like that on any of her students, she would have suspected parental abuse. Maybe there was a reason Betty Jean was an easy mark for every guy who bought her a burger.

Jase swung his head around. “Betty Jean? Hell, no!” His eyes drilled into hers. “Haven't you guessed?” His voice turned ugly and grating. “It was Marguerite Shelton! Who else? Apparently in her never-ending quest for new and different experiences, she decided to try motherhood—until after the baby was born!”

“I never—I mean—” She wasn't sure what she meant. No wonder Ms. Shelton had disappeared so quickly.

Jase stood up and stalked to the window, opened the blinds, and looked out on the side yard below. Laurel deserved an explanation, the full, sordid story, but he didn't want to see the expression on her face when he told it.

“It all started when I was mowing her lawn.” He frowned and corrected himself. “No, actually, it began the first day she walked into school and I wound up in her class. By the end of the week, she was all the guys talked about in the locker room—the way her boobs moved every time she took a breath, how she smiled with her eyelids half-closed, how she talked in a throaty purr that made you uncomfortable if you were sitting down and embarrassed if you had to stand up.”

Laurel dropped the sheet and joined him at the window, putting her arm around his waist.

In for a penny, in for a pound. She hoped Pendleton Swaim wasn't out walking today. A naked Laurel Harlow embracing her equally naked lover in full view of anyone passing by would really spice up his next book.

Jase stared out the window, into the past.

“All the guys speculated about what she'd be like in the hay, but none of us would've made a move on her. She was off limits, an adult, a teacher.”

He might not want to get up from his desk after she'd swayed down the row to hand out papers, but Marguerite had to be the one to make the first overture. And she did.

She called it “special help,” just the two of them sitting close together in the deserted classroom during lunch period, the warmth of her breasts or thighs “accidentally” rubbing against him, the “friendly” touching, her scent wafting into his consciousness. Hell, the smell of gardenias still gave him an instant erection. Her conversation was witty, sophisticated, and just a tad naughty. And her eyes—those sherry eyes…

Then came the compliments. “You're so mature for your age, Jase,” she would purr, running the edge of her fingernail down his arm. “You've really got a build on you—I noticed it the first day you walked into my class. I bet half the girls in school are crazy about you. They must keep you busy. I'm surprised you even have the strength left to come to school in the morning.”

Damn, he'd loved it. He'd laughed nervously and been embarrassed and flattered and confused and excited, but he loved it. In reality, the girls avoided him, at least the nice girls. He was too tall, too muscular, too dark. His father always claimed Indian blood, but Jase doubted if he really knew. Ol' Growler's parentage had probably been as haphazard as his own.

Marguerite was the perfect seductress. Attentive and available, she praised him for his triumphs and commiserated with him over his disappointments. Growler had never asked him about his classes or even attended one of his football games.

He tried to explain. “Marguerite seemed to care, and there weren't many adults in my life who gave a damn. Maxie tried to help, but she was working full-time and taking care of her mother too, so that didn't leave much time for me. Granny hated my dad—and me. Probably because of my mother.” He shrugged as if it didn't matter. “Anyway, she died the year before I was run out of town.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. This was the hard part, and he didn't know how Laurel would take it.

“Marguerite knew I was pretty much on my own, so she started hiring me to do chores around her house. At first it was just on weekends because football practice was right after school. Coach had waived the fees for me so I didn't dare skip a practice.” He snorted. “Not many six-foot-two guys around Bosque Bend High School at the time.”

Laurel nodded. Jase had been the tallest boy in the junior class, and he'd had the musculature to go with it.

“Anyway, all that fall, I spent Saturday afternoons at that little stone cottage she'd rented, mowing the lawn or trimming the bushes or cleaning out the gutters, sometimes washing her car. She'd invite me inside afterward and she'd give me a glass of lemonade, which changed to hot chocolate in November. It became a ritual—she called it ‘our time.'” He glanced at Laurel. Would she understand? After all, she'd grown up with
real
parents.

“She never had much on—short shorts and a tank top or a halter thing, even when it got colder.” He stopped for a moment to consider what he should say next, then stated it straight-out.

“She took me into her bed in December. I didn't catch on at first.”

The first Saturday of the month, Marguerite told him she was going to take a shower while he raked up the leaves. His imagination had gone into overdrive on that one, and when he came into the kitchen for “our time,” there she was, clothed in a lightweight kimono that clung to her damp, naked body like Saran Wrap.

An erection had started nudging against his fly, and he'd tried to look everywhere else but at her, then downed his drink in one scalding gulp and bolted out the back door, without even waiting to be paid. The rest of the weekend had been misery, and he'd dreaded seeing her again at school on Monday, but she'd been as friendly as ever, paid him for his yard work as if nothing unusual had happened, and he convinced himself he'd overreacted.