Jayne Ann Krentz (14 page)

“Arizona Snow is a nice person in a lot of ways, and she's definitely interesting,” Hannah said after a while.

“But she's not what anyone would call normal.”

“The older I get,” Rafe said, shifting gears to negotiate the curving road that led down from the institute, “the more I'm convinced that the only good, working definition of ‘normal' is the fact that you're still walking around outside and not locked up in a padded cell.”

“Okay, I'll buy that definition. It's as good as any other I've ever heard.”

“Thanks. You know, for a guy who never made it through his second year of college, I say some smart stuff sometimes.”

She smiled wryly. “And so modest, too.”

He shot her a quick glance. “What's with the sudden depression here? Losing the glow of victory so soon?”

“You know the old saying, all glory is fleeting.”

“Damn.” He accelerated at the foot of the hill. “You
have
lost the sparkle.”

“I hate when that happens.”

“Me, too. Victory over the jerk should buy you more than a moment of exuberance. But don't worry, I've got a surefire cure for what ails you.”

She turned her head on the back of the seat and studied his hard profile from beneath lowered lashes. It felt good to be here with him in the intimate confines of the powerful car. She wondered what her family would say if they knew where she was tonight.

For some reason the answer did not matter at that moment.

“What's the cure?” she asked softly.

A wicked expression, barely visible in the eerie light given off from the instrument panel, flickered across his face. “Come home with me, my sweet, naïve little dupe, and I will show you.”

She knew the smart answer to that invitation. The only intelligent, sane, reasonable, logical, suitably Harte-like response was to tell him that she had to get home to her dog.

“Okay,” she said instead.

She finished the last of the key lime pie and put down her fork with a sigh of mingled satisfaction and regret. The pie had been delicious, tangy and smooth on the tongue, with a flavor that conjured up images of the tropics. The slice had been arranged with artistic precision on the plate and trimmed with a paper-thin almond wafer and a slice of lime.

She looked at Rafe, who was sitting on the other side of the old oak table. He had removed his tie, unbuttoned the collar of his pristine white shirt, and rolled the sleeves up to the elbows. Nothing had changed since that night on the beach, she thought. He wasn't the handsomest man she had ever met, but he was far and away the sexiest.

“The pie was incredible.” She tried to focus on something other than sex. It wasn't easy when she was near Rafe, she had discovered. And the problem seemed to be growing worse.

“You don't think I went a little overboard with the lime zest?” he asked.

“You can never have too much zest, I always say.”

He nodded. “It's sort of like sparkle, I guess.”

“You know, when it comes to cooking, you've got a real talent. Why haven't you ever opened a restaurant?”

“I've been waiting until the time was right.”

She put her elbows on the table. “Okay, I can't stand the suspense any longer. If you aren't the owner of a five-star restaurant, how did you finance the Porsche and all this free time you seem to have on your hands?”

He gave her a cryptic smile. “Starting to wonder about all those rumors you've heard concerning my career as a gangster?”

“It never crossed my mind for one second that you might be a gangster.”

“Yeah?” He thrust his legs out in front of him, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Why not?”

“Wrong clothes. Everyone knows gangsters wear shiny suits with big lapels.”

“That's East Coast gangsters you're talking about. Out here on the West Coast, your average wise guy prefers a more laid-back look.”

“Huh. Well, that blows that theory. So what have you been doing for the past eight years? And don't give me that line about working in a hotel.”

“I did work in a hotel. For a while. I've also done a little investing.” He paused. “Day trading.”

Computer stock trading took nerves of steel and a fine sense of timing, she thought. “I've heard that's an easy way to lose your shirt.”

“It is.” He shrugged. “But I didn't.”

She grinned. “Of course not.”

“I'm out of the market now,” he said evenly. “I took my profits a few months ago and stuck them into nice, boring bonds and my own portfolio of high techs.”

“Stop.” She held up a hand. “You're scaring me. It's disconcerting to hear a Madison talk seriously about sound financial planning. Ruins the image of wild, impulsive behavior.”

“If you think I'm bad, you ought to talk to Gabe sometime. He's obsessed with making money and doing deals.”

She smiled. “A cold-blooded Madison? Hard to imagine.”

“Gabe has his share of the Madison hot blood. But he's channeled it into Madison Commercial.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Hannah hesitated. “Ever cooked for your grandfather?”

He looked genuinely startled. “No. Bryce does all the cooking at Mitchell's house.”

“Why don't you invite Mitchell to dinner here at Dreamscape?”

His jaw tightened. “What put that idea into your head?”

“I'm not sure. It just occurred to me that your interest in cooking parallels his in gardening. Creative outlets that you both approach with passion.”

“Huh.”

“I think you should invite him to dinner.”

Rafe contemplated her for a long, brooding moment. “You just can't help yourself, can you?” he said at last. “You can't resist handing out the advice.”

She exhaled slowly and sank back into her chair. “You're right. I can't seem to stop. Do you think I should seek professional help?”

“Waste of money. You'd probably end up giving advice to the therapist on your own dime.” He got to his feet and stacked the dishes. “Go on into the solarium. I'll bring the coffee out there.”

Bemused and feeling oddly flattened, she got up from the table and walked out of the kitchen.

She wandered into the glass-walled room, not bothering to turn on the lights. Drawn by the darkened view, she went to stand at the windows. Rafe was right. She really ought to stop handing out advice to all and sundry. Nobody ever took it anyway.

Morosely she gazed out across the expanse of the curving bay toward the lights of the small harbor and the pier. Music stole softly into the dark shadows of the solarium, curling around her with a lover's touch. It was a slow, sultry number that sounded as if it had been born in a smoky nightclub and had never seen the light of day.

Rafe came through the doorway with a tray in his hands. Without a word he set the coffee and the mugs down on a table. Then he straightened and walked toward her.

A chill of intense awareness swept through her.

So it was dark and there was a torchy tune swirling in the air. So there was a sexy man who could cook like an angel in the immediate vicinity. So what?

Think of Winston
.

Rafe came to a stop directly behind her. “Did I tell you how good you look in that dress?”

“Mmm.” Noncommittal. That was always a safe way to play it.

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her slowly around to face him. “You look fantastic in it.”

Think of Winston
.

Rafe took her into his arms and began to move, very slowly, to the very slow music.

He might as well have been making love to her, she thought. The effect was the same. It felt like things were melting down below. Unable to resist the temptation, she put her head cautiously on his shoulder.

His arms tightened very deliberately around her. His thumb touched the base of her spine.

Think of Winston
.

She cleared her throat. “Would you mind if I asked you a purely hypothetical question?”

He put his mouth against her temple. “I live to answer hypothetical questions.”

“In your considered opinion, do you think that the average man would be hesitant to become involved in a romantic relationship with a woman who was prone to lecture him in an officious, prissy manner?” She swallowed. “Even though she was right most of the time?”

He said nothing for a moment, dancing in thoughtful silence.

“The average man, maybe,” he finally conceded.

Gloom settled on her, darker than fog. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

They danced for another moment or two. Then he brought her to a halt near the window.

“My turn to ask you a hypothetical question,” he said. “Do you think I'm average?”

She raised her head very swiftly from his shoulder. “No. No, definitely not. You're a lot of things, Rafe Madison, but you are not average. Not in any way.”

She could feel him smiling into her hair.

“Then I don't see that we have a problem here,” he said.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her.

She stopped thinking of Winston.

She wanted him. He could feel it in the way she held him. The fine trembling in her body told him of her gathering excitement. He could not recall the last time a woman had shivered in his arms like this.

He realized his own hands were not completely steady.

Somewhere inside him there was a cloudburst. A hot rain poured down, drenching regions that had been parched and dry for what seemed like forever. Suddenly there was a rain forest where there had been only desert. The raw power, the driving need, and the exquisitely painful anticipation that shafted through him was the pulse of life itself.

He had promised himself that when this moment came he would take his time and savor the experience. He wasn't a kid with his girlfriend in the backseat of a car. He was a man who had some experience. He knew the risks of rushing things. But the urgent hunger was an ungovernable force that threatened to overwhelm his will.

“Rafe?” Hannah speared her fingers through his hair and then tightened them around his neck. “I never intended…I mean, I didn't expect to end up like this tonight.”

“Are you going to tell me it's too soon?” He kissed her throat. “That we don't know each other well enough?” He counted delicate little vertebrae with his fingertips until he reached the hollow of her back. “Because if you want to stop this, you'd better say something fast.”

“No.”

He froze, his palm on the curve of her hip, and raised his head to look down at her. “No, you don't want to do this?”

She smiled slowly. “No, I don't want to stop.”

He shuddered and pulled her close again. “Don't scare me like that. My heart won't take the shock.”

Her laugh was tiny and fraught with nervous energy. It sent sparkles of light through him. In the next moment the small sound transmuted into a sweet, anxious murmur. Her kisses became extravagant, quick, eager. Delicious.

He was tight and hard and edgy now. Every muscle straining. He could no longer think clearly. The fragrance of her body was a disturbing, disorienting incense that clouded his brain. He knew that he was swiftly losing control, but he could not seem to work up any real concern about the problem.

She wanted him.

That was all that mattered.

“Upstairs,” he said against her mouth.

“I don't think I can make it that far.”

She fumbled with his shirt. Somewhere in the shadows a button bounced and pinged on the tile floor. Her fingers spread across his chest, warm and soft.

“Let's try real hard to make it up the stairs,” he said. Her response was muffled against his bare skin. “Okay.”

He guided her toward the door. Simultaneously he found the zipper of her dress and lowered it the length of her back. The top half of the garment fell to her waist. He saw that the manufacturer of her silky little black bra had skimped on fabric. The garment did not cover the top half of her breasts.

Gathering her against his side, he worked feverishly on the clasp of the bra. At the same time he half carried, half dragged her across the hall. It was an awkward process. What the hell was the matter with him tonight? He usually didn't have so much trouble doing two things at once.

The bra finally fell away. He had her as far as the stairs now. He heard a soft clatter and realized that one of her high heels had come off.

She lost the second one just as he got them both to the third step.

“Oh, yes.” Her hands gripped his shoulder, small nails tattooing his skin. She kissed him wildly.
“Yes.”

Slowly, he worked his way up the stairs with Hannah in his arms. It wasn't easy. She wasn't helping him. He missed a step when she sank her teeth lightly into his bicep. She nearly lost her balance when he retaliated by kissing one taut nipple. Both of them grabbed the banister to keep from falling.

Hannah was quicksilver in his grasp. She slipped and slithered around him. He groaned aloud when he felt her hand on the buckle of his belt. Halfway to his goal, he looked up at the landing. It was lost in distant shadows.

“Not much farther,” he said hoarsely. He was lying to both of them, he thought. The top of the stairs was in another universe.

“Close enough.” She had his belt undone now. Her fingers were on his zipper.

“Better wait until we get upstairs,” he whispered.

“Can't wait.” One nylon-clad foot glided up his leg.

He felt the heat from the inside of her thigh and sucked in his breath. They were never going to make it at this rate. It was time to take unilateral action.

He picked her up, settled her across his shoulder, and clamped one arm across the back of her legs to hold her there.

“Rafe.”

He ignored her breathless, sensual laughter. With total determination he took a firm grip on the banister and hauled them both to the top of the stairs. There he turned right and went down the hall to the bedroom he had chosen the day he arrived. It was a big one, with a sweeping view of the bay.

He went swiftly through the doorway and dumped her onto the quilt that covered the old-fashioned four-poster. She lay there amid the pillows, then reached for him with both arms. He fell on top of her.

He kissed her throat while he rummaged with one hand in the drawer of the nightstand. He knew the box of condoms was in there somewhere. He had put it there this evening before leaving the house. Optimism had been riding high at that point. Probably because he had had several engaging fantasies in the shower and had emerged semi-erect. A man was always at his most optimistic when he had a hard-on.

When he couldn't immediately locate the condoms, alarm set in.

“What the hell…?”

“What's wrong?” Hannah's eyes widened. “Are you all right?”

Mercifully his fingers closed around the box. A sense of victory soared through him. “Yeah, sure. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong.”

“Good.”

“Very good,” he whispered. “Excellent, in fact.”

She slid her hands inside the wings of his unbuttoned shirt. Her palms were silken on his skin. Breathing took serious effort now.

By the time he was ready, most of their clothing had magically disappeared. He lowered himself between her legs. She raised her knees and tightened her thighs around him.

He cupped her with his hand. She was wet and hot and swollen. When he used the pad of his thumb on the small bud, she quivered violently. His own body nearly exploded in response.

“Now,” she ordered, clutching furiously at him. “Now, please, yes. Do it now.”

He needed no further urging. If he didn't do it now, it would not get done at all.

He fitted himself to her and started to enter her carefully. She was snug and tight and damp. He tried to take it slow, but when she lifted herself against him, he abandoned all attempt at sophistication and restraint.

There was nothing sophisticated or restrained about how he felt at this moment.

He thrust deeply into her, losing himself in a world of intense sensation. He heard her soft, exultant cry and felt her body grip him with fierce satisfaction. Her head tipped back. Her lips parted in a soundless scream.

She climaxed immediately. He wanted to indulge himself in the pleasure of her release before he surrendered to his own, but he had only a few seconds to enjoy the experience. The small shivers that went through her were more than he could stand. He tried to swallow his own roar of triumph and exultation, but he did not succeed.

She did not doze, but she was vaguely aware of a sense of detachment from time and reality. It was a pleasant interlude that she knew would not last forever. Nevertheless, she was reluctant to emerge from it.

Rafe sprawled on his back beside her, big and warm enough to heat the whole bed to a cozy temperature. He had one arm behind his head, the other around her. She opened her eyes partway and studied him in the shadows. He looked as relaxed as a large cat after a successful hunt. She raised her head for a better look. Her glance fell on the green numbers of the radio clock.

“
Winston
.” She sat up quickly.

“Huh?” Rafe slitted his eyes. “What's wrong?”

“I've got to get home to Winston.” She shoved aside the quilt and scrambled off the bed. “He'll be worried.”

Rafe looked amused. “You think your dog worries when you're a little late coming home?”

“Okay, so maybe he won't be worried, exactly.” She spotted her panties on the floor and dove for them. “‘Concerned' might be a better word.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, he'll certainly need to go outside by now.” She stepped into the panties and looked around for her bra. It was nowhere to be found. “He's been cooped up in that house for hours.”

“Take it easy.” Rafe thrust aside the quilt and got up from the edge of the bed. “I'm sure Winston is fine. He's probably sound asleep.”

He was right, she thought. This panicky sensation nibbling at her insides had nothing to do with Winston. She was experiencing some sort of bizarre reaction to what had just happened here in this room. What in the world was wrong with her?

“Have you seen my bra?” she asked. She was glad the lights were still off. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

He paused in the act of fastening his trousers and reached out to turn on the bedside light. He swept the room with a deliberate look. “Nope. Must have left it back there on the stairs.”

She shot him a suspicious glare, almost certain that he was teasing her. She glanced down and saw the toe of her panty hose sticking out from under the bed. Even from here she could see the massive run in the foot of the stocking. With a sigh she shimmied into her dress and groped wildly for the zipper.

“I'll get it for you.” Rafe's voice was softer now. He walked across the room to stand behind her. His fingers caught hold of the zipper tab and raised it straight to the base of her neck in a single motion.

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded stiff and prim, even to her own ears.

“Sure. Anytime.”

She did not dare look at him now. Instead she began to hunt for her shoes.

Rafe shrugged into his shirt. He did not bother to button it. Folding his arms, he lounged against the bedpost and watched her frantic search.

“I don't think your shoes made it upstairs, either,” he offered eventually.

“Good grief.” She straightened quickly, shoved the hair out of her eyes, and bolted for the door.

He followed her at a more leisurely pace. She ignored him, horrified by the sight of bits and pieces of her clothing strewn on the stairs and in the hall. What had come over her? She didn't do things like this. She must have lost it, big time.

By the time Rafe got downstairs she had retrieved her shoes and her bra and had the door in sight. Clutching her lingerie in one hand, she focused intently on the only thing that mattered at that moment: escape from the scene of her wild, frenzied, totally uncharacteristic passion.

Rafe's voice stopped her cold just as she was about to twist the knob.

“You want to tell me what's wrong, Hannah?”

For a second she could not breathe. She looked down at her trembling fingers. “I think I'm having an anxiety attack.”

“Yeah, I can see that. The question is, why?”

His laconic tone chased away some of the panic. Anger rushed in to fill the empty space. This was all his fault. If he hadn't fed her that incredible key lime pie, if he hadn't turned on the music, if he hadn't danced with her in the darkness…

If…

She whirled around, hands behind her on the knob, and glowered at him.

“Panic attacks happen,” she said grimly. “Not my fault.”

He studied her for a long, brooding moment. “Second thoughts already?” he finally asked.

She drew a deep, steadying breath. A semblance of reason returned. She could not blame any of this on him. She was the one who had gone crazy here.
Act like a grown-up
.

She cleared her throat. Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. “Sorry. I'm not being real cool, am I?”

“No, but that's not the problem. Nobody ever said you had to be cool.” He did not move, just stood there in the hall, watching her. “But for the record, I'd really like to know what went wrong.”

“I'm not sure.” She released her death grip on the doorknob and shoved her fingers through her hair. She met his eyes. “No, that's not right. Rafe, I need to ask you a question, and you have to tell me the truth.”

“What's the question?”

“This.” She swept out a hand to indicate the searing passion that had begun in the solarium and ended in his bedroom. “What just happened between us. It didn't have anything to do with Dreamscape, did it?”

His eyes narrowed. “You tell me.”

She flinched. “What's that supposed to mean?”