Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (22 page)

“You were a lonely child, too, weren’t you, Jake?”

“I suppose I was,” he agreed, his eyes letting her see the child he had been. “I didn’t quite fit in anywhere. My father’s people and my mother’s were so much at odds with each other. I guess my parents were very deeply in love, but they died before I was old enough to know them very well.”

He shrugged, tightening his hand on hers. “I had no real complaints. I certainly had all the creature comforts I could have wanted. In that way I was spoiled. I was a wild youngster.”

Jenny laughed, her voice teasing, “You’re not so tame as a man, either.”

His breath caught and for a moment they were both silent, then he said huskily, “Can I talk you into dinner? Chinese again?”

He didn’t want to leave her, she realized, her heart pounding. He was trying to stretch out their moments together.

Hesitantly, she offered, “Why don’t I cook for you? There are still salmon steaks in George’s freezer.”

He didn’t let himself show surprise, just said casually, “Sounds good. I’ll drop you off, then I’ll go beg a bottle of wine from Violet and Nat.” He grinned boyishly. “I’ll wine you, and you can dine me.”

This had been her idea, but it was a dangerous one. Alone with Jake on the boat, anything could happen. She hesitated.

“Backing out, Jenny?” he asked softly, his mouth curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We can still go Chinese if you like.”

She met his eyes. She knew the danger, but— no matter what the consequences, she needed his arms around her once more.

Her voice husky, she answered, “No, Jake. I’m not backing out.“

Chapter 10

“Smells good.”

Jenny swung around, still holding a dish filled with steaming scalloped potatoes. “Jake! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry,” he was smiling slightly, standing in the companionway, filling it with his breadth. “You were humming – singing to yourself.”

“I heard this song on the radio – it’s catchy. I— I like your sweater. It looks nice.” Luckily she was holding the bowl, or her hands might follow their impulse to smooth the soft brown mohair of the sweater that he wore over smooth brown slacks.

“I’ll tell Violet you approve – she gave it to me. She’s an incurable knitter, you know.”

Jenny said breathlessly, “I liked her.”

“She liked you.” Jake’s voice wasn’t very steady either. “She said that I— here, let me take that bowl for you.”

“I— no, it’s hot! You’ll burn yourself!”

He stepped back to let her pass. She put the bowl down on the table. He was watching her, a look in his eyes as if he were planning a film shot. She smoothed her hands nervously over her slacks – at least she hadn’t worn jeans, and her blouse was pretty, but—

“You’re looking very beautiful, Jennifer.”

“I—” She felt so tongue tied this evening, as if she were on her first date. She shouldn’t be thinking that way, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. When she’d invited him, she’d insanely intended to let him make love to her, but she’d regained her sanity and now she felt nervous and uncertain.

Jake lifted a hand as if to touch her, then dropped it, his voice husky as he offered, “Can I set the table for you? No, that’s all right, I’ll find my way around. I was watching you put away the dishes the other night. I’ll manage.”

They worked quietly together. When the salmon and potatoes were steaming on the table between them, and they were sitting across from each other, the silence suddenly seemed long and filled with meaning.

He was dressed more formally tonight, not unlike the way he dressed in the city. If she closed her eyes a little, let their surroundings blur, she could imagine they were seated at the small table in the breakfast nook she’d seen in his False Creek apartment.

Before she realized what she was going to say, she asked, “Have you ever lived with anyone, Jake? A woman?”

He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t tell her anything but the truth, so he said, “Yes,” and saw her eyes drop away from his. He said quickly, “But I didn’t—”

“More potatoes,” she asked on a rush, following the serving of potatoes with a discussion of the Anthony Island restoration. Brightly, she asked, “You’ll want shots of Anthony Island? Those totem poles looking out to sea?”

“Of course,” he agreed, adding abruptly, “Her name was Alison. It was six or seven years ago. We lived together for six months or so.”

Jenny said coldly, “It doesn’t matter.“

“I don’t even remember what she looked like,” he added, realizing as her eyes met his that he was only making it worse, painting himself into a corner as a man who never stuck to a woman. Alison, he thought bitterly. She’d been trouble from the beginning, a beautiful body with an empty head.

Jake gave up on explaining Alison, kept the conversation firmly on the details of filming. Eventually, to his relief, Jenny began to relax again.

“I’ll get some paper to make notes,” she said at one point. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Don’t. We’ll start planning next time. I’ve got to catch the jet tomorrow – there isn’t time for us to really get into it. Does George’s stereo work? How about some music?”

Jake had found George’s collection of CDs, was frowning over her cousin’s taste. He wanted to take Jenny in his arms, love her, tell her all the words she wasn’t ready to hear yet. Instead he forced himself to say casually, “Country? Jazz? Not exactly what I had in mind— here’s something!”

They listened to the strains of Ferrante and Teicher as they did the dishes. When Jenny finished washing, she started to help Jake dry, but he took her towel away, insisting, “I’ll finish the drying. You curl up on the settee and enjoy the music. You can watch me work.” He wanted to see her there, to watch her and pretend she was waiting for him to come to her.

“I thought you hated dishes?”

He shrugged and smiled, and she wasn’t about to fight for the privilege of drying dishes, so she went into the salon. She tucked her feet up, leaned back on a soft cushion. She closed her eyes, listening to the music, but whenever she opened them, Jake was there, close by.

In her mind, the dreams started again. She couldn’t seem to stop them. She found herself waiting for the moment when he came to her.

When he sat down near her, she watched him from behind lowered lids, taking pleasure in the sight of him relaxed and still only inches from her.

They talked – meaningless, comfortable spurts of conversation.

“Your plane leaves in the morning,” she said at one point, meeting his eyes with uncharacteristic challenge. “Shouldn’t you spend the evening with your aunt? You haven’t seen her in a long time and—”

“I’d rather be here,” he said hoarsely, as she had hoped he would. Then he looked at her oddly and said, “Jennifer? Jenny?”

She fell silent, staring at him, frightened by the intensity of his eyes.

“What? What is it, Jake?”

He started to say something, stopped, shook his head, started again. “Jenny, I honestly don’t know how to deal with you any more. Damn,” he said softly, smiling wryly, “I’m not used to feeling so helpless. You were always there, and I know I took you for granted, but now, suddenly, you’re so— I’m afraid if I say the wrong thing you’ll disappear on me again. I’m not sure what you want, and I—”

She felt an overwhelming urge to cry. She wanted to touch his face, smooth that disturbed look away, give him whatever it was that he wanted.

“What is it that you want of me?” she asked on a frightened whisper.

“You know what I want.” His arm lifted, his hand touching hers, fingers running up along her arm, touching her neck lightly, tracing the planes of her face.

Her lips parted, her breathing shallow. He leaned closer, both hands feeling the contours of her face, fingers spreading through her short hair as her scalp tingled with his touch.

His voice was low and hoarse. “My God! I’m sure the whole world knows what it is I want of you by now!“

His lips brushed hers. Was it his mouth trembling? Or hers? She drew in a deep, ragged breath. His head blotted out the red sky she had glimpsed through the porthole.

At first his mouth was soft and cautious against hers, then his hands tightened on her shoulders, his mouth became firm and warm, and her eyes closed to shut out everything but the wonderful feeling of Jake holding her, touching her, kissing her, drawing his tongue along her lip, exploring her cheek, her neck, the sensitive hollow of her throat with his mouth.

“Jennifer—” He drew her soft body close against his, sliding his arm around her back and bringing her close. She found her arms around his shoulders, her palms open on his back, stroking the soft mohair, feeling the ridges of his shoulder muscles tense as her hands moved. She felt the fire rising swiftly in her blood, her hands rubbing against his hard male body, his gasp as her hand moved against him.

“Jennifer— Jenny—”

“Jennifer,” she told him softly, her breast swelling from nothing more than the thought of his touch on it. “You can call me Jennifer if you want.”

“You said you didn’t like it.” He hardly knew what he was saying. His hands were exploring the back of her rib cage, tracing her spine through the thin blouse she wore.

She opened her eyes and stared into the black depths of his. She felt dizzy, heat racing through her veins. “I’ve missed you calling me Jennifer. I—” His fingers moved softly along her side, skirting the swelling of her breast, not quite touching the softness that swelled suddenly, aching for his caress.

“Please Jake,” she whispered, her eyes refusing to stay open, her hands clutching, digging into his back. Then his lips were on hers again, hard and suddenly demanding. She was opening her lips, herself to him, spinning off, losing touch with everything except the reality of Jake’s lips, Jake’s tongue, Jake’s hands cupping the fullness of her beasts.

“Jennifer— oh, God! Darling…” His lips pulled a response from hers that she had never known existed. She was burning, needing him, moving against him to feel his warmth closer to her, hardly hearing his words as his hot breath stirred against her ear and her throat. “I’ve needed you for so long, darling! Let me love you!”

Her fingers slid under the edge of his sweater, found the dry warmth, the sudden rigidity of his abdominal muscles as she moved her palms over his broad, hard chest.

He stared at her, saw her eyes closed, head thrown back to expose her soft throat for his kiss. He touched the vulnerable skin with his lips, seeing her shudder as his lips traced along the softness, down to the beautiful swelling of her breast. He kissed the peak softly, then caressed with his tongue, feeling the powerful surge of his own desire as she groaned and twisted against him.

He should make sure she knew what she was doing, that the morning wouldn’t leave her regretting this intimacy. He moved his hand along her midriff, caressing through the soft fabric of her slacks, feeling her respond to his touch, needing him.

He wanted her forever, her soft body against his. His lips moved over the white skin, seeking all the places that would drive her wild in his arms, wanting to touch and kiss and love, wishing suddenly that he could give her his child, could touch her and hold her and love her and make her his more deeply than any two people had ever joined.

He lifted her, holding her against his chest, touching her lips again before he moved along the passageway, carrying her held closely in his arms. She closed her eyes, sliding one arm around his shoulder. Her other palm explored the line of his clenched jaw.

Then she was resting against the softness of a mattress. She opened her eyes, staring up at him, seeing the movement of his chest that revealed shallow, ragged breathing.

He wanted her so badly. It was in his eyes, in the way he leaned over her, so still, so tense. Had he wanted her like this before? Or was it the evening, the islands, and George’s music?

She loved him so much. She had always loved him, but now it had grown into an unbearable pain. She opened her lips to tell him, but his mouth covered hers and she was caught up in his kiss, trembling as his hands fumbled with the fastening of her slacks, finding her own hands working with the buttons of his shirt.

As the last vestige of her clothing disappeared, Jake’s hand moved softly along the curve of her hip, his eyes looking down in her body with a sudden stillness.

She knew with a sharp pain that she was never going to recover from this night, never going to stop needing him. She hadn’t been with a man since Lance, and she was fiercely, agonizingly glad that she was unprepared for this, that her surrender to him could mean the creation of a child in her womb.

“Jake,” she whispered, her hand caressing up along his chest, touching his face. She dared not whisper that she loved him. Instead, she said his name again.

“Jennifer…” He brought his lips to hers again, taking her heated body in his arms.

She lost track of everything but the feel of him, the closeness of him. His lips and his hands caressed her, sending flames along her veins. Her hands answered his, touching him as she had never touched a man before.

When she couldn’t bear the waiting any longer, needing him to possess her completely, she groaned, “Please, Jake,” not even knowing she spoke, but responding eagerly and completely to his masculine possession of her body.