What the Heart Wants (9 page)

And Laurel was passionate, even without knowing, her face flushed from his kisses and her wide gray eyes dilated with desire. Unpracticed she may have been, but her ardor more than made up for it.

Then he went too far and she froze up on him.

He also remembered the aftermath. He'd been a real asshole, lighting up and trying to act like a tough guy, but he'd been embarrassed and ashamed and—well—frustrated. He loved her, but knew she was too young and innocent, too good for him.

And he still loved her, and she was still too good for him—so good that despite everything, she'd admitted him to her house yesterday, taken care of his daughter, and was now hosting him and his family for dinner.

Maxie's voice cut through his reverie.

“Look at the time! Lolly and I have to be at the airport in thirty minutes! Our flight leaves at nine, and Pastor Richter expects us to help with early communion tomorrow morning!”

Lolly sprang up and headed for the front hall. “I'll be just a second, Aunt Maxie. My backpack and purse are upstairs.”

Laurel started after her. “I'll help.”

Lolly reached under the bed for her Luis Vuitton handbag while Laurel grabbed Lolly's pink backpack from the side chair. It lifted far too easily.

“Your hair equipment is still in my room!”

They dashed across the hall. Lolly stuffed her portable salon in her backpack, which Laurel held open. They gave each other a congratulatory high five, then paused. Laurel could feel a fluttering panic rising in her breast. This was good-bye, and she didn't know what to say. She didn't want Jase's daughter to leave. She didn't want to be all alone again.

Lolly glanced down at herself. “Hey, I've still got your shirt on.”

“Take it as a gift.” On impulse, before she could second-guess herself, Laurel unwound her necklace and lifted it over Lolly's head. “And take this too, to remember me by.” The pearls had been given to her in love and deserved a better fate than the pawnbroker's window.

Lolly stood stock-still in the middle of the carpet, lifted the pearl rope in both hands and looked down at it, then up at Laurel. Her voice was soft, her eyes compassionate. “Was it, like, because of your parents that you couldn't keep me?”

“What?”

“I mean, when I was born. It must have been hard, you being a preacher's daughter and all. Did your parents make you give me up, turn me over to Dad?”

Laurel's knees buckled. She sat down on the edge of her bed, stared up at Lolly. She'd put it off too long, but it was time to end this fantasy—for both of them.

“Honey, I'm not your mother. You're a lovely girl and I wish I were your mother, but I'm not.”

Lolly sat down beside her. “I understand that you don't want to admit you had a baby out of wedlock,” she insisted, “but you must be my mother. I can tell from the way Dad acts around you—and Aunt Maxie said he's always been in love with you. Besides, I'm named after you.”

“Named after me?”

“
Lolly
is just what they call me. My real name is Laurel Elizabeth, like yours.”

Laurel looked at her in surprise. Lolly was a Laurel Elizabeth? Jase had given his daughter her name? No wonder Lolly thought she was her mother. If only.

She took Lolly's hands in hers. Gray eyes met blue. “Lolly, listen to me. I like you a lot. You're a charming girl, and if I had a daughter, I'd want her to be just like you. But you aren't mine. Your father and I have never been, well,
intimate.
I've never had a child.”

And probably never will
.

Suddenly the years of desolation stretched in front of her like an endless, empty tunnel. The last twenty-four hours had been a magical respite, but tonight Lolly would leave her and Jase would leave her and she'd be by herself again.

She couldn't hold it in any longer. There were just too many sorrows stored up, too many tears she'd suppressed. Great, painful sobs tore from her throat, and tears cascaded down her cheeks. Tears for her father, her mother, her botched marriage, her dreams of love, her doubtful future.

All the while she was vaguely aware that someone was patting her arm and babbling at her. “I'm sorry! I take it all back! I didn't mean to make you cry! I'm sorry! Please stop crying—Dad will kill me!”

But there was no way she could stop.

J
ase leaned against the newel post, waiting for Lolly to collect her gear.

This was taking too long. Was Girl Child trying to wheedle a couple of days' more hospitality out of Laurel? He gave Maxie a telling glance. She rolled her eyes.

A sound came from the second floor, like someone choking. Jase moved to the bottom of the steps and put a hand on the newel post, ready for action.

Suddenly Lolly, big-eyed and white-faced, appeared on the landing. “Dad, you've got to come! She won't stop crying! Laurel won't stop crying!”

He vaulted the steps two at a time, Maxie right behind him.

Lolly hurled herself into his arms. “I'm so sorry! It's all my fault! I didn't mean to!”

Jase held her tight and patted her shoulder soothingly. “That's okay, baby. It'll be okay.” He walked her back into the room.

Laurel was slumped on the edge of her bed, a hand to her face, shaking like a leaf and sobbing uncontrollably.

Jase looked from one to the other. God, Laurel was crying her eyes out, and Girl Child was coming on hysterical. He had to separate these two. Still holding Lolly with one arm, he nodded at Maxie and felt in his pocket for his keys. “I think it would be best if you and Lolly left,” he said, handing the keys over to his aunt. “Just park the Caddie in the overnight lot at the airport. I'll take care of Laurel. I was going to stay in town another day anyway.”

He gave Lolly a quick hug and a reassuring smile. “Laurel will be fine, baby. You take care of Aunt Maxie.”

She wiped her nose and smiled weakly. “I will, Dad. I promise.” Still snuffling, Lolly picked up her backpack and purse, then followed her aunt out of the room, a rope of pearls dangling incongruously from her neck.

Jase frowned. Wasn't that the necklace Laurel had on at dinner? The one she'd told Maxie was actually a single long strand? Oh well, it was the least of his worries.

In less than a minute, the big front door thudded shut, leaving him alone in the house with Laurel.

A trickle of sweat rolled down the back of his neck.
Goddamn. The room is hot as Hades
. He doffed his jacket and slipped it over the back of the dressing room chair, then turned on the window unit. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the tissue box, took one, and sat down beside Laurel, patting her arm so she'd know someone was there.

Weeping women were not his area of expertise, and his first impulse was to make a run for it. But, no, he'd said he'd stay, that he'd take care of her, but the rampant femininity of the room made him uncomfortable. All that pinky color. And it was Laurel's room, her
bedroom
, for God's sake, and he was sitting on her
bed
.

What the hell had Lolly done—or said? She must've brought up the mother thing.

Damn it, he'd tried to cut her off at the pass with that soap-opera nonsense about her mother entrusting her to him because she thought he could give her the best home, then making him promise to not to reveal her name. Couldn't she be satisfied with that? Girl Child wasn't old enough to hear that her mother hadn't wanted her. He'd tell her more when she was older, when it would mean less to her.

He patted Laurel's arm and handed her a tissue.

God, where did all that water come from? Females must be born with extra storage tanks behind their eyes. Lolly wept like that too. He'd even seen Maxie cut loose a couple of times.

Quieter now but still sobbing, Laurel wiped her cheeks. Then, as if too weak to sit up on her own, she leaned against his side, her breast pressing against his arm. He looped the other arm loosely around her shoulders and gently rocked her. The bed creaked in a suggestive rhythm that he tried not to think about.

“That's okay. It'll be okay,” he said in a singsong voice, the same assurance he had given Lolly.

Maybe
she
was going to be okay, but he wasn't so sure about himself. He'd wanted to comfort Laurel, but he'd been stiff as a stovepipe ever since he sat down beside her, and his idea of comfort was rapidly expanding its scope. God, she was so damn female! He kissed her silky hair and let his lips wander across her forehead.

He'd always thought Laurel looked very Southern—the dark hair and pale eyes, the graceful slenderness of her body. She was made for plantations dripping with Spanish moss, for mint juleps and long, hot nights with all the windows open, for mosquito netting floating over sweaty beds in the nighttime breeze. But right now his bayou babe was gulping back tears and making strange snorting noises. She grabbed a couple more tissues, blew her nose loudly, and rested against him again.

He shifted closer and brushed her forehead with his lips.

She looked up at him in surprise, then touched his face—hesitantly—as if to make sure he was real.

He tracked a teardrop across her cheekbone with his finger. “Why were you crying? What did Lolly say?”

Her mouth was tremulous, her eyes heavy-lidded and wet. “No, Jase. It wasn't Lolly. It's you—because you're leaving.”

He was leaving and taking all her silly dreams with him, the romantic stories she'd woven around him ever since she was fifteen. He'd go back to Dallas and she'd move out of Kinkaid House, leaving her childhood behind. This was the end, the last time she would see him.

Her eyes widened in appeal and their depths darkened to slate. “Kiss me, Jase, kiss me,” she whispered.

At first he thought he wasn't hearing right, because what she said was so much what he wanted to hear. But then she turned her face up to him and closed her eyes.

His mouth tasted her—gently, sweetly. He didn't want to come on too strong, but she melted against him. He buried his face in the side of her neck to inhale her fragrance, then adjusted her against his chest and moved his lips toward her ear. “Laurel, I've waited so long.”

“I've waited too. Love me, Jase. Make love to me.”

“Yes.” His voice caught in his throat so he said it again, louder. “Yes.”

She wanted him. The princess of Bosque Bend wanted
him
, Jase Redlander. And he'd always wanted her. His first impulse was to rip that slinky pantsuit off her and grind himself into her so hard that the whole town would hear her come. But Marguerite, may she burn in hell, had taught him better. And Reverend Ed's daughter deserved better. Laurel was different from the women he'd been in the habit of casually hooking up with over the years.

Go slow, you big ape.
Make this good for her. Stretch it out as long as you can.

His lips traced the tender skin behind her ear. She whimpered and moved her hand down his back.
Good.
He kicked off his shoes and sank her down on the bed, their heads twisting in kiss after kiss; the bed's wooden slats protested loudly all the while.

Ghosts of dead Kinkaids?
Tough shit.
If those old dudes and dames on the staircase hadn't had sex at least once in their lives, Laurel wouldn't be here today.

He rocked his forehead against hers, smushing their noses together. She moaned and rubbed the undersides of her arms against his shoulders as the tip of his tongue outlined her mouth, then sought entry to explore the inner rims of her lips and the sensitive flesh above her teeth. He couldn't get enough of her.

He caressed her arms and hips—barely touching her skin to sensitize her, then using longer, stronger strokes for his own satisfaction. He dropped kisses on her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, then licked at the circles of her ears.

She shuddered and clutched his head to bring him close for deep soul kisses. His sleepy Southern belle was demanding her just due. Her legs moved restlessly as her tongue twined with his.

He stroked her arms again, lightly touching the sides of her breasts at the same time. She opened her eyes and breathed in hard.

Undoing the cloth-covered buttons on her blouse, he played with the tops of her breasts, then sucked her nipples through her lacy, barely there bra.

Was he rushing her? He skimmed his mouth across her fevered cheeks and let his breath whisper in her ear. “You okay? We can slow down.”

“No. Don't slow down.” Her voice was husky. She ran her hand up under his loosened shirt and buried her fingers in his chest hair.

His brain rocketed into outer space, and he took her mouth again, releasing the back hooks of her bra at the same time. Her sweet breasts tumbled free, and his finger circled one dusky pink tip before he tested it with his tongue.

She moaned and her eyelids closed. When he mouthed her other nipple, she uttered a short, sharp cry.

“That's it, baby,” he breathed in her ear. “I want to know what you like.”

She stroked his arms. “
You
, Jase. I like
you
.”

His heart thumped in his chest so hard it hurt. He nipped at her neck and lowered his mouth to her breasts again, sucking first one crest, then the other, until they glowed like twin rubies.

She ran her hand along his jaw. He'd shaved before he came over, but probably had fresh stubble by now. The beard didn't seem to faze her, though. In fact, from the way she was writhing against him, it seemed to turn her on.

Remember that, Jason.

He trailed his hand down her throat to the juncture of her breasts, then farther down, to the front closure of her slacks. The buttons, hook, and zipper opened easily, and he slid the slacks off her to the side of the bed, then pulled down her panties. She arched her breasts and gave him a come-hither smile.

Oh God, she was an erotic fantasy, her dark hair fanned behind her head, her blouse spread beneath her shoulders, her face flushed with passion, her mouth swollen with desire—desire for him.

“You're beautiful.” His voice was so thick she probably couldn't understand a word he was saying, but she was more than beautiful. She was glorious, his own goddess of delight. Her breasts, tipped by dusky pink rosebuds, were full and firm; her belly was flat, her hips rounded, her legs long and curvy, and her pale skin incandescent in the evening glow.

He tore off his shirt and ran a hand along the curve of her hip, tantalizing himself with the feel of her, then followed with a trail of wet kisses down to the spread of dark curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Lifting himself just enough to unfasten his belt, he used one well-practiced motion to push his slacks and briefs off to the bottom of the bed, jackknifing his butt backward so she wouldn't get the full visual of his erection yet.

You could hang a flag on that guy.

Laurel felt a thrill pass through her as Jase shucked his pants. They were both naked now—skin to skin, body to body. This was a time for truth between them. There were no subterfuges, no places to hide. He was man, she was woman, and tonight they would merge their bodies and become one.

She reached a hand up to caress his stubbled jaw again, the slight irritation of her palm sending a ripple of heat racing through her veins. All in all, she was reacting with an ardor that would have astounded her ex-husband, an ardor she'd given up on ever experiencing.

Sex with Dave hadn't been the rhapsody she expected after her experience with Jase, and certainly nothing like the love scenes in her favorite novels. In fact, it had been surprisingly dull, starting with a painful wedding night in which she'd bled through to the mattress. Dave had strutted around the hotel like a spread-tailed peacock afterward, but she'd been so embarrassed, she'd hidden out in their room for the rest of the week.

Apparently her well-guarded virginity was all she had to offer Dave, because after they got home, he complained about her lack of response. “It's like you're not even there,” he'd said. “I could get the same satisfaction from one of those inflatable dolls.”

Determined to make a go of her marriage, she'd supplemented her white cotton underwear with sexy little nothings from the specialty boutique Saundra Schlossnagel's mother had added to Ooh La La, then borrowed a couple of X-rated videos from Amy Fassbinder, but nothing seemed to work. What had Dave wanted that she couldn't give him?

Jase didn't seem to find her lacking. In fact, he was as hungry for her as she was for him. She moved her hands down to Jase's shoulders as his shaft nudged her leg.

Slowly, inexorably, he bent her back on the four-poster till they were lying crossways to the headboard, his leg between her thighs, his shoulders pinning her beneath him.

She raised up to claim his mouth, and he gave her a quick kiss as he shifted himself so he was totally over her. A fountain of flame erupted behind her breasts and flowed to the female core of her being.

This was it. She guided his manhood into position. This is where he belonged.

He smoothed her hair and bent down to kiss her once more. Then, reaching down to slick her with saliva, he touched her in just the right spot.

She threw back her head and gasped as a bolt of lightning shot through her and Jase thrust home. Then, encircling his body with her legs, she drew him as close as she could, trying to suck his whole body inside herself.

His dark eyes glittered as he rose above her and began his rhythm.

Now it would be fast.

She met his every stroke, clutching at him with her inner muscles.

She was panting now, little intakes of air accompanied by wispy moans. The window air conditioner was rumbling at top speed, but she was so hot that she felt as if she was going to burst into flames. The bed might break beneath them, but there was no way she could stop. Everything feminine in her was hell-bent on speeding her to the ultimate conclusion.

Suddenly she was soaring beyond the room, beyond the earth, beyond the moon. They were as one being now—she was him and he was her. The waves of release seemed to roll on forever.

Afterward, she lay in his arms, her eyes shut, her fingers trailing down his thigh, her voice a seductive whisper.

“Stay the night.”