Again, she'd clearly surprised him. He gave a small, rueful smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You've changed.”
Yes, she had. In many ways. But she knew exactly which
change he referred to. At one time, she wouldn't have stopped him from touching her or holding her in any way. She wouldn't have been opposed to his
manhandling.
“I'm glad you've noticed.”
Thrusting his hands into the deep pockets of his trousers, he sauntered across the deck and leaned against the railing beside her. She wanted to move away, unreasonably daunted by his nearness. Pride kept her staunchly in place. She refused to be intimidated...or affected in any way, for that matter.
His gaze lingered on her face, filling her again with annoying warmth. He then looked out into the snowy night, where majestic mountains loomed in the distant blackness. “I guess I just wanted to make sure I'd get the chance to talk to you before you...rushed off somewhere.”
She raised an eyebrow at that. He'd changed, too, if he wanted to
talk
. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
His gaze remained fixed on some distant point. “I gathered you were embarrassed by the photos.”
She stiffened, unsure of how to respond. Unsure of how he would interpret any answer she might give. Faintly, she asked, “Embarrassed? Why should I be embarrassed?”
As softly as the smattering of snowflakes pelting against their faces, he replied, “Maybe because we made damn fools of ourselves every chance we got?”
“Oh.
That
.”
He slanted her a glance that sparkled. “Yes,
that
.”
She wondered if he knew how much he'd surprised her. Could he possibly be as embarrassed as she was by their past behavior? She didn't see why he should be. He hadn't been the one suffering from delusions of love-ever-after. He hadn't been the one left behind, looking like a naive ninny.
“I behaved pretty much like a sex-crazed idiot,” he remarked, “didn't I?”
She was, for some reason, beginning to feel vindicated. “Pretty much.”
“And I...took full advantage of your...innocence.”
Memories evoked by those words throbbed almost painfully in her chest. “If you hadn't, someone else would have, I'm sure.” A lie. No other man had ever intoxicated her with passion as Cort had. She wouldn't have lost her head in quite the same way with anyone else. But she saw no reason for him to know it.
He shifted to search her face, a frown in his eyes, as if he sensed she hid some truth from him. His efforts seemed only to frustrate him. “I owe you another apology,” he said at last. “I shouldn't have said what I did when I left. You didn't deserve my harshness. And crudeness. I'm sorry.”
She gaped at him. Never had she expected this particular apology. She struggled for a moment to find her voice. “No, don't be sorry. You only told me the truth. If it was harsh, well...” she shrugged, realizing as she spoke that she believed what she was saying “...at least you forced me to face the facts.”
Which had been the hardest thing she had ever done.
Love?
he'd scoffed as he'd packed his bags.
I don't love you, Laura. I want you. There's a big difference. This is the only “real” thing we've ever had between us
.... And he'd put her hand on his zipper, against the hardness swelling there.
Grappling to hide the pain that memory still inflicted, she went on in a soft, soothing tone, “In fact, I believe I owe you my thanks. You taught me a valuable lesson.”
“I was a son of a bitch, and you know it. I wouldn't blame you if you neverâ”
“No, I mean it, Cort. You really did teach me an important
lesson. Do you remember how dead set I was on telling my parents to go to hell when they insisted that I break up with you?”
He fell silent, his attention caught. Slowly, he nodded.
“I was ready to give up all their financial support and pay my own way, even if it meant dropping out of college. ”
Again he nodded, almost warily, as if expecting a vengeful punch line.
“How could I have been so crazy? I was willing to throw my future away, and for what? Love!” She mimicked the exact tone he'd used with her, all those years ago. “I know better now, of course. Thanks to your honesty. You could have told me some pretty lie, and I would have mourned for our âill-fated love.' Instead, I had to face reality, and I learned from my mistakes. I've learned never to base important decisions on...on whimsy.” She gazed deeply into his eyes, which had grown unreadable. “So I do thank you. You didn't hurt me in any lasting way. You actually helped me.” Although she meant every word, these last few stuck in her throat, and she had to force them out. “And time did prove you right. There wasn't anything between us except sex.”
Something flashed within the midnight depths of his eyes, then faded away, leaving them somehow even darker than before. His mouth hardened. His jaw squared. But his voice, when he spoke, was soft. Dangerously so. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
An odd reluctance delayed her reply. She had no doubt that he regretted his harsh way of breaking off their affair, and she'd already told him that he hadn't hurt her in any lasting way. Why, then, did she sense some hidden challenge in his gaze. “Yes, of course I forgive you,” she said at last.
They stared at each other for a dozen or more heartbeats.
He then slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her slowly, determinedly, into a hug. “Thank you, Laura Merritt,” he breathed into her hair, “for your forgiveness.”
“And thank
you
for your apology,” she replied in a breathless whisper against his shoulder, once again aware of his strength, his muscled hardness, the achingly familiar scent of his hair and skin.
“You're shivering.” He drew her deeper into his arms, shielding her from the chill; pressing her body against his to share his heat.
“We should go inside,” she croaked, feeling very strongly that she should, even as she savored the easy authority of his embrace; the scrape of his beard-stubbled jaw against her temple; the seductive rhythm of his heart that brought to mind so many sensuous escapades.
He drew back just far enough to peer down at her. Slanting his face into intimate alignment with hers, he rasped, “I have a better way to stay warm.” Slowly he lowered his head and brushed his mouth across the length of hers. A feather-light stroke. Velvety soft. From one corner to the other.
Her breath caught, trapped in her lungs by a sudden welling of desire. Heat tingled across her lips and sizzled through her bloodstream. She couldn't turn away from him. Couldn't force out a single word.
When he lifted his head, a compelling heat blazed from his eyes. She stared at him in dazed astonishment that he would do such a thing. That she would let him. That the pleasure had been so incredibly intense.
A groan rose in his throat. He closed his eyes and took her mouth in a deep, moving kiss.
Desire flared between them, hot and swift. She gave herself
over to it, reveling in its fierceness, and in the rich, arousing taste of his mouth...a taste she'd hungered for in the most secret of her dreams. His strong, commanding hands swept along the curve of her face and held her steady while he angled his kiss and thrust his tongue in a bold, intimate invasion.
She wanted to capture him there. Hold him inside. Feast on the heat, the thrill, the intoxicating passion.
The very intensity of her desire tripped some internal alarm, and sanity rushed back with dizzying speed. What was she doing? Had she completely lost her mind? Yes, she had!
With a moan of dismay, she pulled free of his kiss, her heart slamming against her rib cage.
He stared at her with a stunned expression on his harshly beautiful face, as if she'd slapped him awake from a pleasurable dream.
“Why did you
do
that?” she whispered frantically between erratic breaths.
His breathing sounded as labored as hers. His eyes burned bright His voice emerged low and hoarse. “For the same reason you didn't stop me.”
His reply shook her almost as much as the kiss. She couldn't deny that he'd given her a sporting chance to refuse. He'd swept his mouth along hers, then waited for her reaction. She'd virtually begged him with her silence to keep on.
“Tell me, Laura,” he commanded gruffly, drawing near her again, his gaze roaming in seductive paths across her face, “why didn't you stop me?”
Desire rose sharply within her, and she swallowed a gasp of alarm. “Curiosity. Just...curiosity.” She backed away from him and strove to reclaim her dignity. “And I can assure you, it's been satisfied.”
Her back hit the sliding glass door.
He planted a hand against the door frame beside her head. “I don't believe curiosity had much to do with it,” he whispered, his breath warm and fragrant against her mouth. “And don't try to tell me you're satisfied.”
She stared wordlessly at him, mesmerized by the intensity simmering in his midnight gaze; her heart pounding in her throat.
He removed his hand and straightened his stance, granting her access to the door.
She whirled away, slid open the door and strode inside. Summoning all her self-control, she waited until she had rounded the first corner, safely out of his sight, before she broke into a run.
She'd been wrong. She hadn't grown beyond the foolishness of her youth, and she couldn't trust herself alone with Cort Dimitri. He still ignited a dangerous flame within herâa flame that could easily burn away the stability she so badly needed.
This, then, was the ultimate reason that fate had thrust him back into her life at this particular time. To remind her of the danger that lay in wait for her if she should stray from the path she'd chosen. Her temporary relapse into mindless passion had frightened every last doubt out of her.
She would go through with the plans she'd made with Fletcher. She'd take refuge in their rational approach to life and love and family. She'd be strong in her platonic alliance with himâand she'd avoid the temptation of Cort Dimitri
at all costs
.
As she drew nearer to the babble of conversation at the front of the house, she almost cried out loud in relief. Fletcher had arrived! He was here, bringing with him the clear, steady light of reason. The mere sound of his pleasantly
pragmatic voice reminded her of who she'd become, and who she strove to beâa well-established career woman; a loyal and steadfast friend; most important of all, a mother.
A mother!
Passion meant nothing in the face of such goals.
Sweet, clear reason had returned. She was safe.
Â
“FLETCHER, YOU REMEMBER my brother, Cort, don't you?” Steffie flashed her usual buoyant smile at them both. “I know he moved out shortly after you moved in to the Hays Street house, butâ”
“Of course I remember Cort. He whipped me good in a game of chess. I've been hoping for a rematch someday.”
Cort answered with an obligatory smile and handshake. The guy's grip was firm, his gaze intelligent. He looked pretty much the same as he had back in their Hays Street daysâaverage height, slender build; short brown hair with a well-trimmed beard; a nondescript face; fashionable, wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a buttoned-down white collar beneath a navy sweater, neatly pressed jeans and high sneakers.
There was nothing immediately obvious to dislike about the guy. That didn't stop Cort from keenly assessing him. He couldn't forget Fletcher's quiet interest in Laura, which he probably thought no one had noticed.
What, exactly, was the nature of their relationship now? Steffie had told him it was strictly platonic, and that he and Laura worked closely together in the course of business. Cort had seen nothing to suggest it was anything more. Since he'd unobtrusively joined the group a short while ago, he'd watched Fletcher cheerfully socializing with everyone present, paying no special attention to Laura. But they
had
shared amiable glances, finished each other's
sentences and included each other's names in casual conversation.
Nothing extraordinary about that. They were, after all, longtime friends and business associates.
No reason Cort should want to choke him.
Cort exchanged a few polite words with Fletcher, joked with B.J. about the new black rose tattoo on her forearm and nodded his appreciation to Rory as he switched from the blaring electric guitar to the quieter acoustic one. While everyone else applauded Rory's choice of guitars and songs, Cort leaned against the fireplace mantel and nursed his brandy.
Laura, meanwhile, joined the cluster of friends around Fletcher She pretended not to notice as Cort stared at her. She did notice, though. A rosy hue flooded her face and she developed an avid interest in everything being said.