Without a Trace (17 page)

She wanted to offer him a hand, but she held back, knowing that rejection now would prevent her from finishing. “These last few days with you have made a difference with me.”

He wanted to believe. And wanting, he discovered, could hurt. “You’re romanticizing again, Doc.”

“No, I’m being as honest as I know how. As logical as the situation permits. You’ve made a difference in the way I think, the way I feel, the way I act.” She pressed her lips together. Did he have any idea how difficult it was for her to strip herself bare this way? She cleared her throat, telling herself it didn’t matter. She was going for broke. “I’ve never thrown myself at a man before.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” He picked up a cigarette but only ran it through his fingers. He wanted to be casual, even amused, but the ache was spreading.

“It would be obvious to anyone but you.” She had to get up, to move. Why did it always seem she had to beg and bargain for affection? “I haven’t asked you for a commitment.” Though she wanted one. “I haven’t asked for a pledge of love or fidelity.” But she would give one to him if he asked. “I’ve only asked you to be honest enough to … to …”

“Sleep with you?” When the cigarette snapped in his fingers, Trace dropped the pieces in the ashtray. “I’ve already given you the reasons why that’s not in the cards.”

“You gave me a bunch of foolishness about our differences. I don’t want you to be my twin.” She had to take a quick, steadying breath. “I want you to be my lover.”

Need and longing twined so tightly inside him that he had to make a conscious effort to stand and walk toward her. He would make it quick, he promised himself; he would make it cruel and save both of them. “A fast tussle in the sheets, no strings attached? Some nice uncomplicated sex without the pretty words?”

Color flooded her face, but she kept her eyes steady. “I expect no pretty words from you.”

“That’s good, because I don’t have any.” He curled his fingers into the V of her blouse and dragged her closer. She was trembling. Good. Her fear would make it that much easier. “You’re out of your league, Doc. A one-night stroll through paradise isn’t your style.”

She started to back away but made herself stand firm. “What difference does it make? You said you wanted me.”

“Sure, and maybe I’d get a kick out of showing you what life’s all about. But you’re the permanent kind, sweetheart. If I ever start thinking about a house in a nice neighborhood, I’ll give you a call. Meanwhile, you’re just not my type.”

It was, as he’d intended, a solid slap in the face. She backed away, turned and started toward her room. She heard the sound of liquid hitting glass as she grasped the doorknob.

All her life, Gillian thought on a sudden wave of fury. All her life she’d taken that kind of casual criticism without a murmur. She’d grown up with it, come to expect it. But she was a grown woman. Her shoulders straightened. Her own woman, she added with a touch of malice as she turned back. It was time to stop freezing up or walking away and to take the next risk.

Trace sipped warm whiskey and braced himself for what he thought would be a rousing argument. He’d have preferred it if she’d just gone into her room and slammed the door, but she was entitled to take a few shots. If she needed to, he’d let her aim and fire. He lifted the whiskey a second time. And choked on it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Gillian calmly finished unbuttoning her blouse. “Proving you’re wrong.”

“Stop it.” She let the blouse slide to the floor, then reached for the hook of her slacks. “Damn it, Gillian. Put your shirt on and get out of here.”

She stepped out of her slacks. “Nervous?”

The teddy was virgin white, without lace, without frills. Her legs were creamier, with long thighs. Despite the whiskey, his mouth went dry as dust. “I’m not in the mood for one of your experiments.” With damp hands
he fumbled for a cigarette.

“Nervous, definitely.” She tossed her hair back. One strap fell down her shoulder as she started toward him.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“That’s more than a possibility.” She stood in front of him so that the last light of day streamed over her hair and face. “But it’ll be mine, won’t it?”

If he’d ever seen anything more beautiful, he couldn’t remember it. If he’d ever wanted anything more intensely, he’d long since forgotten it. But he was sure he’d never feared anything more than this small, lovely, half-naked woman with eyes like jade and hair like fire.

“I’m not going to touch you.” He lifted his glass and drained the last drop. His hand trembled. It was all she needed to complete her confidence.

“All right. I’ll touch you.”

She had no guide to work with, no standard formula she had tested. Her experience with men wasn’t nonexistent, but it had been limited by a strict upbringing and a demanding career. Somehow she understood that even if she’d known hundreds of men, this time would have been different. Relying on instinct and need, she stepped closer.

Her hands were steadier than his as she ran them up over his chest. With her eyes on his, she enjoyed the firm, hard feel of muscle as she moved her hands over his shoulders. She had to rise on her toes to reach his mouth. Then her lips were soft and coaxing as they played across his. With her body pressed against his, she felt his heart thudding.

He held his body tense, as if he were expecting a blow. Once he caught himself reaching for her, but he dropped his hands again and curled them against the dresser at his back. He thought he knew her well enough to be sure a lack of response would humiliate her to the point where she would leave. To keep her safe from him. What he hadn’t counted on was that she’d come to understand him as well.

While her lips toyed with his, she unbuttoned his shirt so that her hands could move freely over the flesh beneath. Her own heart was drumming, her vision clouding, as she murmured her approval. If she had been an
accomplished seductress, she could have done no better.

“I want you, Trace.” Her lips trailed over his jaw to his throat. “I have since the beginning. I tried not to.” On a shuddering breath, she wrapped her arms around his waist, then ran them up his back. “Make love with me.”

He put his hands to her shoulders before she could kiss him again. He knew that if his mouth was on hers a second time, there would be no reason, no chance. “This isn’t a game you can win.” His voice had thickened. The words seemed to burn his throat. “Back off, Gillian, before it’s too late.”

The room was dark. The moon had yet to rise. He could see only the glimmer of her eyes as she looked at him. “You said you believe in destiny. Don’t you recognize me, Trace? I’m yours.”

Perhaps it was that and that alone he feared most. She was as inescapable as fate, as elusive as dreams. And now, just now, she was wrapped around him like a promise.

“Then I’m yours. God help you.”

He lowered his mouth to hers with all the fire, all the force, all the fury, that he’d held back. He’d wanted to save her, and himself. Now it was up to fate, and luck. Whatever promises he’d made he’d break. He would touch her, would have his fill of her. The night would take care of itself.

He let his hands roam over her. The thin material slid under his palms. More enticement. It rose high on her thigh, so he could move from texture to texture, arousing them both. Her skin was like cream, cool, white, rich. Fascinated, he slipped his fingers under the material and found the heat. At once she dug her fingers into his back. Bracing her against him, he drove her up until her knees buckled. When she was limp, he swept her into his arms.

“This is just the beginning,” he told her as he laid her on the bed. “Tonight I’m going to do all the things to you I imagined the first time I saw you.” Her hair spread out like a fan of flame on the plain white cover. The first sprinkling of moonlight filtered in, along with a breeze that smelled faintly of the sea. “I can take you places you’ve never been. Places you may wish tomorrow you hadn’t gone.”

She believed him. Excited, afraid, she reached up to him. “Show me.”

She hadn’t known anyone could kiss that way. Before he’d shown her passion, temper, restraint. Now the restraint had been lifted, to be replaced by a devastating skill. His tongue teased and tormented, his teeth aroused and provoked. She found herself responding with a totality she’d never experienced. Already more involved than she’d ever been before, she dragged him back again and again.

Then he began to touch.

He had the hands of a musician, and he knew how to play a woman. Fingertips stroked, pressed, lingered, until she was breathless beneath him. Her murmurs were soft, then urgent, then delirious. She reached for him, held him, demanded with a strength that seemed to have been born of the moment. She fumbled for the snap of his pants, ready to take him to her, ready to give back this pleasure that she thought could reach no higher. Then his fingers found a new secret. Her body tensed, shuddered, then went lax.

No, she’d never been to this place before. It was dark, and the air was thick and sweet. Her arms felt so heavy, her head so light. She felt the trace of his lips down her throat to where the material lay on her breast. He dipped his tongue beneath to run over the peak. She could only moan.

He caught the strap in his teeth and lowered it slowly while his hands continued to work their magic. This was how he’d wanted her, weak from pleasure, drugged with desire. He could taste where he chose. Such sweetness. Even as her skin grew hot and damp, there was such sweetness. He could have fed on it for days.

The moonlight grew brighter, the passion darker.

He drew the material down and down, following the path with his mouth. He could make her shudder. And did. He could make her moan. And did. He let her sigh with quiet delight, murmur with easy pleasure, then shot her back to desperation.

Catapulted up, Gillian reached for him. They rolled together, caught in a need that was so close to being fulfilled. Again she struggled to undress him, and this time he made no protest. She moved quickly. When they were naked, he moved more quickly.

When he plunged into her, she let out a strangled cry. Half-mad, she grabbed his hair and dragged his mouth to hers. He took her hard and fast, but she found herself more than able to match her rhythm to his. More
than that, it seemed to her that their hearts beat in the same rhythm. She felt him form her name against her mouth, heard the sudden shudder of his breath as emotion merged with passion. She saw as her eyes fluttered open the dark intensity of his.

Then he buried his face in her hair, and they took each other.

It had been a mistake to stay with her. To sleep with her through the night. To wake beside her in the morning. Trace had known when they’d wrapped themselves around each other in the night that he’d pay. A man always paid for his mistakes.

The problem was, it felt so damn good.

In sleep she was as warm, as soft, as pliable, as she had been in passion. Her head was nestled on his shoulder as if it belonged there. Her hand, curled loosely in a fist, lay over his heart as if a claim had been staked. He wished, in those early morning moments, that such things were true. Knowing better wasn’t easy, it just was.

The odd and uneasy thing was that the desire hadn’t dissipated. He still needed, still craved, just as sharply as he had the night before, when she’d put her hands on him for the first time.

He wanted to gather her close, to wake her slowly, erotically, and send them both spinning back to where they’d gone before sleep had claimed them. He wanted, somehow more intensely, to gather her close, to stroke her hair and absorb the quiet excitement of dozing with her through the morning.

He couldn’t do either. Though Trace would never have considered himself noble, he was thinking of her. He was a man who did his job and did as he chose. He lived as hard as he worked and had no ties to anyone. In Gillian he recognized a woman to whom home and hearth and family came first. He had no doubt she was good at what she did, that she was devoted to her work, but there were white picket fences and flower gardens buried inside her. A man who’d never had a home, who’d chosen never to have one, could only complicate the life of a woman who made one wherever she went.

But she felt so good curled around him.

He drew away more abruptly than he’d intended. When she stirred and murmured something, he rose to pull on his loose drawstring pants. He didn’t have to turn around to know she was awake and watching him.

“You can sleep a while longer,” he told her. “I’ve got some things to do.”

Gillian drew the sheet with her as she sat up. She’d been half-awake, or thought she had been. Perhaps she’d dreamed that he’d been stroking her hair. “I’ll go with you.”

“Well-bred ladies don’t belong where I’m going.”

Strange how quickly a chill could come. She’d lain half dreaming, warm and secure. Now she was cold and alone again. Her fingers tensed on the sheet, but her voice came out calmly. “I thought we were going to work together.”

“When it suits, sweetheart.”

Her fingers began to work on the sheet. “When it suits whom?”

“Me.” He reached for a cigarette before he turned back to her. It was just as he’d thought. She looked more beautiful now than she had any right to, with her skin pale, her hair vivid, her eyes dark and heavy. “You’d get in the way.”

“Apparently I already am.” She fought back humiliation as she tossed the sheets aside to gather up what she could find of her clothes. Holding them in front of her, she paused long enough to look at him. She would say what she had to say, she told herself. Too often in the past she’d taken an emotional slap with a bowed head. No more.

“I don’t know what you’re afraid of, O’Hurley, except yourself and your own feelings, but there’s no need to behave this way.”

“I’m just doing what comes naturally.” He drew on the cigarette. It tasted as bitter as his thoughts. “Look, if you’re going to order breakfast, get me some coffee. I’m going to take a shower before I go out.”

“It’s fine to regret what happened. That’s your privilege.” She wouldn’t cry. That she promised herself. “But it isn’t fine to be cruel about it. Were you thinking I’d expect a pledge of undying love? Did you have it in your mind that I’d be waiting for you to fall on your knees and tell me I’d changed your life? I’m not the fool
you think I am.”