Firestorm (10 page)

“One who wants me for who I am, not what I am or how much money I’ve got. One who judges people the same way I do, who doesn’t let prejudice get in the way of how she feels. One who won’t be on my back about the work I do, and who’ll love living at the ranch instead of in some Houston palace.”
One who won't kill my kid and leave me for
another man.
“You’re being obtuse. You know exactly what I want,” Jake concluded, scowling at his friend.

“You want a woman like Susie.” Skip’s eyes were unnaturally bright. “She’s no big city girl.”

“Neither was Alice. At first, I guess I was a novelty to her. And then we fell in love.

Getting married when we finished college seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Before long, she got to whining that I spent so much time out in the field. She got uptight about my being in the oil business when she thought I should have been playing pro football, and even more upset that I wouldn’t give up working in the oil fields and take a job of some kind in the Houston office.”

Skip shook his head. “Why didn’t you have kids? They would have kept her busy at home when you were gone.”

Jake flinched. He'd never told Skip exactly how his marriage ended. Maybe it was time. But the words damn near stuck in his throat. “She didn’t want kids right away, and that was okay with me. But when I started pushing for us to start a family, she balked. By that time, I guess, we really didn't have much of a marriage left.”

“That was when you started spending months at a time over in the Middle East, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Alice must have gotten careless with her pills while I was gone, because the second to last time I came home from Riyadh before the divorce, I got her pregnant. She wasn’t happy about it, but I was thrilled. Afterward I flew out to Venezuela to take care Ann Jacobs

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of some problem. Hell, Skip! I was only gone two weeks, because I had to be back in time to stand up at my cousin Greg’s wedding. When I got back, she told me she’d gotten an abortion and filed for divorce.”

Jake's hands shook, and his words caught in his chest. “She married Durwood Yates the day the divorce was final.” He looked up and saw his friend's shocked expression.

“That cocksucker.” Skip’s fist slammed down onto the table. “I’d have killed him.

Her, too.”

“Sometimes I wanted to. At the time, though, I loved her.”

“Do you still?”

“Hell, no,” Jake growled. “I don’t even hate her much anymore, except when I think about her killing my flesh and blood.”

“I didn't know you felt so strongly about abortion,” Skip said, rubbing a hand across his brow. “But I'd have thought Alice would have, her being raised the way she and Susie were.”

“I didn’t—at least, I'd never thought much about abortion one way or another.”

Jake couldn't say the word without hurting. “I never thought Alice would consider it, either. If I’d had any idea she was going to kill my baby the minute I left town, I never would have gone.”

“So you’ve let that bitch turn you cold and bitter and afraid to take a chance on being happy with someone else? Are you scared, Jake? Is that why you’ve gone out of your way to fuck around with sluts and date society girls who would die if you took them away from the stores and parties and all the other glitter of the city? Is that the reason you’ve hauled the ones you’ve slept with out to your ranch afterward and told them that’s where you’re gonna stash them while you go all over the world drilling for oil? So you won’t be tempted to take another chance on love?”

“No, goddamn it. Alice did a good job, taught me love is for kids and fools.”

Jake drained his beer and got up to replace the bottle in the empty case. Without having to turn in the tiny kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and retrieved two cold sodas. He sat back down and handed one to Skip, who seemed for once to be searching for words to say.

“If Susie and I don’t have love between us, just what do you think we have?” Skip finally asked when Jake looked him in the eye.

“Compatibility. Good sex. Your two little boys and the new kid that’s on the way.

Respect for each other and tolerance for the differences between you. If there are any differences, that is.”

“Well, you just defined what Susie and me call love, old buddy. And all I’ve been saying is that I think you've been looking in the wrong places for the lady you want. If you really want one.”

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Skip headed for the door while Jake tried to tell himself Kate Black wouldn’t, couldn’t heal the kind of emotional wounds Skip couldn’t possibly understand.

Wounds Jake would never risk opening up again.

* * * * *

Jake had been quiet when he picked her up at Becky's house the next afternoon, and when they got back here he’d holed himself up in her bedroom to make some calls he’d told her couldn't wait. Still, Kate liked having him with her, even if he had obviously chosen to put some emotional distance between them since they’d made love.

She hurried around the kitchen, checking the potatoes for doneness with a two-pronged fork and stirring the beans one more time, before lifting chicken-fried steak pieces onto a platter. The gravy was too thick, so she added a little more milk from the carton on the counter.

Good, it didn't turn lumpy this time, she noted with relief. She hoped Jake would come downstairs soon, before everything got cold and unappetizing. For the first time since Pop had died, she enjoyed fixing a meal. She hated cooking just for herself.

Shyly, she touched her breasts through the barriers of her clothing. They were sensitive, a little sore from Jake's rough hands and the abrasion of his shadowed chin.

Still, she had no remorse. She’d loved every minute of making love with him and could hardly wait for more, even though she knew that playing with Jake was like playing with fire—in more ways than the obvious one.

What was Jake’s magic? There was something about him, so much more than his dark, handsome face and a body that reminded her of a classical statue. His physical attributes alone hadn't lured her into his arms.

If anything, Jake's towering height and rippling, work-toughened muscles intimidated her. She decided it must have been those fleeting glimpses of his sensitivity and tenderness that had eased her qualms and released her inhibitions.

As she stirred the gravy, Kate sighed. Unlike most of her friends at college, all she’d ever dreamed of was nurturing a husband, making him a happy home and being a loving mother to his children.

Pity, Jake Green didn’t seem to be a man who'd take to nurturing, though he certainly made her want to sweep away that cynical attitude and earn his love and trust.

Kate shook off her futile hopes. To wish for what would never be was hardly productive. For now, she’d accept what Jake offered and give him as much as he’d take from her. She’d store up memories to hold her when he’d gone to drill more wells and enchant more faceless women. Turning back to the stove, she ladled beans into a bowl.

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When she looked up, her heart beat faster. She smiled. Jake’s jeans-clad body was framed in her kitchen doorway. He answered her welcoming smile with one of his own, but the brooding expression that darkened his deep brown eyes made her wonder if seeing the domestic scene she’d set had raised his defenses.

“Something smells good,” he said as though he’d suddenly developed a keen interest in what was in those platters on the counter.

“I hope you like it.”

“I will. Can I help?”

“No. Everything's ready. Just sit down and I'll put it on the table.” Kate hesitated.

“Would you rather eat in the dining room? I could set the table there.”

“Honey, don't do anything special. Here's fine.” His voice was mellow, soothing, but she sensed his wariness. After watching him settle his long, lean body at one of the places at the table, she started setting out the food.

“Would you like a drink? I think there's a bottle of wine here somewhere,” Kate said as she rummaged hurriedly through the old-fashioned cabinets. “Or I've got tea.

And cola. I could make some coffee if you'd rather have that.”

“Tea's fine. You don't have to go to any trouble, honey.”

“It's no trouble…”

He's never called me by my name. Not even when we were making love.

At that disturbing realization, Kate set the pitcher on the table.

She tried hard to think of something else. Dinner, for instance. Had she forgotten anything?

The biscuits. Grabbing a hot mitt, she hurried to the stove and snatched the pan from the oven. After dumping the biscuits onto a plate and setting it down in front of Jake, she sat and served herself from the steaming platters.

The hearty appetite he exhibited in bed carried over to eating, apparently, because he was making quick work of the hefty portions he’d put onto his plate.

“Do all country girls cook like this?” he asked as he split a biscuit and poured creamy milk gravy over it. “I haven't had chicken-fried steak and gravy this good since the last time I was at Skip’s ranch.”

“I’m glad you like it.” But she still wished he’d call her by name.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, as if he’d noticed Kate's uneasiness.

“Nothing. Can I pass you more beans and potatoes?”

“Sure.”

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Kate handed him the bowl. Her conscience was getting the best of her. She had tossed good sense out the window and crawled into bed with this handsome stranger who had taken her heart while giving only his body.

Her cheeks growing warm, she recalled the half-a-dozen foil wrapped packages he'd tossed onto her bedside table. How she’d melted when he touched her with his hands and mouth. And the delicious feelings that had burst inside her when he’d filled her with his hot, heavy sex.

Maybe there was something to be said for pure, uncomplicated sex.

But he has never called you by name, just “honey” or “lady” or some other offhand
endearment
. Not even the memory of all those sensual delights could make that stinging thought go away.

Jake looked up, apparently amused, and Kate met his gaze. “You know, honey, you'd think after what we shared upstairs yesterday afternoon, we wouldn't be stammering around like strangers,” he said, and his voice was like a caress.

There he goes again. Kate felt the heat on her cheeks.

“But we are strangers, aren't we?” She set her fork down on her nearly untouched plate of food. “You don't even use my name,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

He looked surprised. “Why, sure I do. You think I don’t know it’s you making my cock hot and hard? That I'd have been just as horny for any woman I might have run across?”

“Yes. No. I don't know. Jake, I've never…” His explicit comments confused and embarrassed her.

“I know. It meant a lot to me—you know, that you wanted me the way you did.

Come on now. Don't get all uptight on me. Dinner is delicious.” His lips curved in a cajoling grin, and she thought when she looked at him that some of the moody darkness had left his eyes.

“All right.” She picked up her fork to muss her food around her plate, watching Jake eat with apparent gusto. As far as she could tell, he was oblivious to her discontent.

But she’d gone and fallen in love with him. No matter what he said, it hurt to think he might have made love as easily and pleasurably to any woman—that she’d just been handy at the time.

* * * * *

“Let’s take a walk. I need to work off some of your good food.” He also wanted to be damn sure the fire hadn’t started up again in the woods behind the house. And he wanted to ease this sweet woman’s conscience, too. That surprised the hell out of him.

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Ordinarily, Jake walked out when a woman pulled a sulky act on him. With Kate, though, he figured her silence stemmed from embarrassment at the way she’d come apart in his arms.

He was certain he hadn’t hurt her physically. She’d taken as much as she gave him yesterday afternoon. He was pretty certain that the climax she’d enjoyed with him had been her first—and he granted that her inexperience gave her license to have a few recriminations.

“Ready for a little exercise?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

Her reply was a silent nod and a subtle movement toward the kitchen door.

“Is it easier for you to call all your women ‘honey’ than to try and remember their names?” she asked tightly when they paused in front of her house.

“Hey! What kind of rotten bastard do you think I am?”

He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. Suddenly feeling cold inside because their bodies weren’t touching, he reached out and pulled her into a loose embrace.

“I'm sorry. I have no right to complain.”

She trembled in his arms. Knowing she was hurting did strange, unwelcome things to him.

“I told you, I wanted you. That once was not enough. Don’t you know, Kate Black, that you've got me damn near obsessed? Don’t you realize I don’t want to feel the way I do when you're in my arms?”

Jake knew his words had come out sounding harsh, and he imagined Kate thought his anger was directed at her. Deliberately, he soothed her with slow strokes of one hand and along her spine.

When he spoke again, he gentled his tone. “Lady, it's been a helluva long time since a woman has made me want her the way I want you.”

“It has?” She sounded hopeful but skeptical.

“Yeah. I don’t like the feeling, but I can’t walk away. Not yet.”

Jake wouldn’t lie. He wouldn't spout the pretty words he imagined would have Kate crawling all over him the way he wanted her to. But damn it, he wanted her again.

She kept him horny like no one had for a long time. Since those few good years with Alice, he reminded himself, but his half-hard cock was in no mood to listen.

“When will you walk away, then?” When Kate tilted her head back, he looked into her solemn aqua eyes.

Ann Jacobs