Husband for Hire (15 page)

None of the big dreams Darlene and Tom had dreamed had come true. But clearly they couldn’t be more content. They were absolutely radiant with happiness.

“You all right?” Rob touched her elbow and she turned. She hadn’t seen him approach her.

“Fine. But you must be bored stiff by now.”

“Your ex is a real barrel of laughs. Let’s dance.” Without waiting for her to reply, he slid his arm around her and drew her out to the middle of the floor.

Twyla pressed a hand to his shoulder and felt glad for his touch. There was nothing behind it, she realized. He was here to fulfill an obligation—nothing more. Yet the mere sensation of his touch, of his holding her made her feel stronger, more sure of herself.

“So you survived the encounter,” Rob said, speaking quietly into her ear. “Lived to tell the tale.”

“It appears I did.” She looked beyond him, finding Jake by spotting the largest crowd. He had always been popular. That was something that hadn’t changed. Yet she no longer regarded him through rose-colored glasses, or with eyes blurred by the tears of hurt.

Based on the brief encounter with him and Beverly, Twyla felt no yearning for that life. No wish to be a part of his world. And fiercely glad that she had Brian and this marvelous night with a great guy.

“Well?” Rob asked. “You want to tell me how it was for you?”

Surprising herself, she said, “It was…not what I expected. Seeing him again didn’t upset me the way I thought it might. He’s just some guy who wasn’t very nice to me once upon a time, and tonight I realized that none of it was my fault.”

With startling tenderness, he touched a wisp of her hair, tucking the stray lock behind her ear before he bent to say, “I guess that was worth coming for.”

“Uh-huh.” Suddenly her mouth was too dry to say more. She wasn’t used to talking about such things, not to anyone. She wasn’t used to being touched and held, and she liked it so much it embarrassed her.

“You want to get out of here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Back to the lodge?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you know it’s dangerous to be so agreeable all the time?”

She laughed. “Uh-huh.”

T
WYLA FELT HERSELF
growing more and more relaxed during the drive home. Strange, because she was fairly certain something would happen when they got back to the private lodge, and the very thought of such a prospect should make her nervous.

But how could she be nervous when she wanted him so much?

How could she be nervous when he had taken her on a journey that had ended with peace and understanding rather than hurtful memories and humiliation?

Undoing his bow tie and opening the collar studs of his shirt, he fell into an enigmatic silence as he drove, and she didn’t break in on his thoughts. She didn’t want to. Part of his allure was the mystery of him, the fact that she barely knew him, and probably wouldn’t ever see him again after this weekend. There was something incredibly liberating in that. Maybe it was shallow, maybe it was silly, and it was definitely improper, but for once in her life she wanted to go wild.

The night had grown brisk from a snow-chilled wind blowing down from the mountains. When they went inside, he took off his tux jacket and made a fire in the huge river-rock fireplace. She took a second bottle of Moët from the refrigerator, opened it and poured two glasses. Sipping her champagne, she stood back, watching him fan the kindling with the bellows until the dry
sticks caught and flames curled up around the big yellow larch logs on the iron grate.

“You do that pretty well for a city boy,” she said softly.

“What, build a fire?”

She almost said “uh-huh,” but she didn’t want him to think she’d gone brain dead. “It’s definitely a learned skill. I was hopeless with our woodstove the first winter in Lightning Creek. But eventually I got the hang of it.”

“We did plenty of camping and orienteering at Lost Springs,” he said, using a poker to shove a stray stick of kindling back under the log.

“Ballroom dancing, survival in the wilderness…I think they prepared you for anything.”

His gaze flickered over her, and she felt his admiration like a caress. “Just about,” he said.

She handed him the champagne and they clinked the rims of their glasses together. “What should we toast to?” she asked.

“Mission accomplished?”

“Was it?”

“You tell me. Did you have a good time at your ten-year reunion, Twyla?”

“Yes. And it’s all thanks to you. Cheers.” They drank, and she savored the cool, tart bubbles that glided over her tongue and down her throat. She shut her eyes and took another sip. “I should do this more often.”

“Do what?” His voice sounded a little strained.

“Drink champagne with a strange man in a remote cabin. It has a certain undeniable appeal to it.” She laughed at herself. “I don’t think you know how rare it is for me to get away, even for a weekend. To go someplace where I don’t have to be somebody’s mother or somebody’s daughter. It’s incredibly liberating.”

“Glad to oblige, then.” He drained his glass, and Twyla did the same. Holding her gaze with his, he took the glass from her and set it on a side table.

Now, she thought. Please kiss me now before I think up a reason to stop you.

“Good plan,” he whispered.

Dear God, she’d spoken the words aloud.

And she wasn’t sorry.

It was not a romantic, soft-focus kiss like the one last night. This time it was swift and tasted of harsh need and urgency. His hands felt huge and insistent as they drew her to him, though his mouth was surprisingly soft and supple, pliant lips shaping themselves over hers, imparting the flavor of champagne and something else, something she hadn’t tasted in forever but had never quite forgotten. The essence of a man’s desire.

The sudden, almost brutal power of his embrace chased off any lingering hesitation she might have had. She might never have a night like this again. She’d be a fool to let it go to waste. So when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, her blood simmered with desire, obliterating reason. “Rob, I have a confession to make,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I was hoping this would happen.”

Again, she noticed the hesitation she had seen in him earlier, followed by a reckless growl of animal passion. As he kissed her a second time, his hand deftly unhooked the back of her dress and the zipper slithered downward. With his other hand, he cupped the back of her head, and her upswept hair fell down around her shoulders. She let her head drop back while he kissed her throat, his lips following the circle formed by the
necklace he had given her. She felt dizzy, and forced her eyes open before it was too late.

“Um, just a minute,” she muttered.

“Sure.” He drew back, shoving a hand in his pocket.

She groped for her evening bag, turning back to him with a small plastic packet in her hand and a terribly bright blush on her face. He produced the same item from his pocket, almost at the same time.

“Good plan,” he whispered again, and peeled the red dress down her arms.

She reached around behind him and unbuckled his cummerbund, then one by one removed the gold-and-onyx studs of his shirt. A few moments later, Armani’s handiwork lay in a heap on the floor along with the scarlet dress. Twyla stood wearing only her national debt panty hose and a tiny red silk slip. She tugged down the waistband of her hose and sent him a bashful smile. “I’m afraid when I take these off, everything will fall down around my ankles.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. I’ll put you back together again if I need to.”

She laughed, flushed with nervousness and need, and discarded the panty hose.

“Everything stayed put,” he said, trailing a finger downward from her throat to her cleavage. The finger disappeared into the bodice of the slip, skimming across the tops of her breast and then over, flicking aside the thin satin strap. She nearly gasped aloud but bit her lip instead, hoping he wouldn’t guess just how badly she wanted him.

“I wasn’t really worried,” Rob stated. Then he said no more, lowering his head to put his mouth where his hand had been.

Twyla closed her eyes and tried to inhale the sensa
tions through every pore. This was heaven, she thought, a moment of heaven right here in the middle of her mundane life. She combed her fingers through his hair and down his back, and together they sank down to the thick pile hearth rug. This man was a stranger, yet in some ineffable way he felt familiar. There was something about him that she recognized. Maybe he was something from her own dreams.

She ran her hands up his back again. It had been so long since she had touched a man. She savored the shape and texture of him, long muscular limbs and soft dark hair on his chest, the subtle shadow of whiskers on his cheeks. She wondered how in heaven’s name she had lived so long without this. The question of how she would go on without it after he was gone swooped like a cold specter through her mind, but she pushed it away, burned it away with a heated kiss. He pulled off her slip and lifted her so that her breasts brushed his chest, and pure instinct took over. Her hips undulated against his, rising to form a cradle for their joining.

An urgent wildness built inside her, and she clutched at him, her hands and mouth and body begging for him more shamelessly than words ever could. He entered her rapidly, recklessly, and she cried out with the force and the glory of it, and felt the long, rolling waves begin immediately. He brought her to a crest of sensation where she was afraid to move, to breathe, to blink, but just when she thought she couldn’t bear to hover there, he took her higher still. It was unprecedented, almost frightening, the level of pleasure he brought her to. She’d had no idea…then she had no thought at all as she tumbled with a cry into ecstatic nothingness, holding him so close against her that she could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat and each silken ripple of his climax.

It was a long time before she could speak, before she could even form a coherent thought. The long, mindless moments had a hazy, surreal quality, punctuated by the indolent snapping of the fire, the subtle flicker of light over their bare legs and hips. Finally, when one of the logs collapsed and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney, she moved, propping one hand on his chest so that she could look into his face.

“Well,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “Well. I’m not sure what happens now.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been a long time for me, Rob. A really long time. I don’t quite know what to do next.”

He had his fingers tangled deeply in her hair. With unhurried deliberation, he freed his hand and let it slide downward over her shoulder, back, hips, thighs, making a silent, wicked suggestion at her most vulnerable spot. “I have a few ideas.”

She flushed, feeling a new wave of desire even before the last one had fully ebbed. “Well,” she said again, tossing aside the torn plastic packet he had produced earlier, “we’ve got one condom left.”

“Oh, baby.” Like a magician, he produced a whole chain of them from his vest pocket. “We’ve got more than that.”

R
OB AWAKENED SLOWLY
, savoring the syrupy lassitude of a long, untroubled sleep. He enjoyed the feel of a silky-warm female thigh draped over his and the mysterious, exotic perfume of a woman’s hair for a full minute before the shock set in.

Holy shit. He had made love to Twyla last night. Not just once, but…he opened one eye and his gaze tracked across the bedroom. They had started downstairs by the
fire, then moved upstairs, trailing articles of clothing and champagne glasses and plastic packets in their wake. There had been a bath in the Jacuzzi tub and then on to the bedroom…. God. He had completely lost his mind.

And now he was trapped—in more ways than one. She slept deeply, unmoving, her limbs heavy and relaxed, entwined with his in an intricate pattern. He’d never slept so tangled up with a woman. He’d never held a woman so close all night long.

Not even…damn. Not even Lauren.

Slowly, gingerly, he tried to escape from the soft, warm bed. He lifted the long leg that lay draped over his and set it aside, but even as he did so, he had a flash of memory and found himself thinking about the way they’d made love last night.

She shifted in her sleep. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him close, closer…. He still tried to escape, tried to talk himself out of wanting her. He thought of agar compound. He calculated the mileage his Lincoln Navigator got and pondered the price of beef hides on the commodities market. He tried to think of anything but last night, but her warmth and the scent of her were undeniable, and before he could stop himself, he was hard with wanting her again.

Gritting his teeth, he gently lifted her head from the cradle of his shoulder, easing a pillow beneath the tumble of red curls. She sighed in her sleep, but didn’t awaken. When he raised the cover, he got a glimpse of her body. Big mistake. He shouldn’t have looked. But damn, she was a goddess.

He managed to slip from the bed. He put on a pair of jeans, nothing more, and left the room on silent, bare feet, going downstairs to make coffee. As it brewed, he stared, mesmerized, then filled his cup and went out onto
the front porch. It was high noon and a scorching sun raised heat shimmers over the meadow surrounding the cabin.

Rob sat on the top step, drinking his coffee and contemplating what he had done.

He had lost control, and that wasn’t like him. His life was all about being in control, planning things out, going after a goal. He had his lab practice, and the partnership was making him richer than any man had a right to be. He had Lauren, and although they had not specifically discussed marriage, there was a tacit understanding that they would before too long. He lived in Denver, a city with a night life, a trauma center, golf courses, airports, bowling alleys, for God’s sake.

What he had done last night put everything at risk. His carefully constructed life. His career path. His relationship with Lauren. He had flung it all away for the sake of a woman with honest eyes and a beautiful body and a compelling way about her that touched his heart.

He finished his coffee and got up, pacing the yard where tufts of grass covered the sun-heated earth. Raking a hand through his hair, he tried to decide how to handle this.

He was supposed to be good at handling things. He usually was. He could look at a problem from all angles, decide what had to be done, then do it.

Maybe he’d get lucky this time. Maybe Twyla just needed that one wild night to get it out of her system. Maybe she’d simply want to get back home and get busy at work and forget all about him. If she didn’t want that, he’d find a way to convince her that parting was for the best. That would be the simplest solution. A cordial “Thanks, it’s been fun,” and they’d go their separate ways.

“Morning,” said a voice from behind him.

Startled, he turned to see her coming out on the porch. Her hair was mussed, and she wore a thick, white terry-cloth robe a couple of sizes too big for her. She had her hands shoved into the deep pockets and a smile on her face.

“Morning,” he said. And then…nothing. He was supposed to explain the way things were to her, lay it on the line, but…nothing came out, nothing but an answering smile.

“Sleep well?” he heard himself, his traitorous self, ask.

“Couldn’t you tell?” She stretched luxuriously, raising her hands above her head and giving him a glimpse of her cleavage. “You?”

“Uh, sure. There’s coffee,” he added.

“I found it.”

“Oh. Good.” Furious at himself for not being able to get the words out, he strode up the porch steps. “We’ve got a two o’clock flight out of here today.”

“So we have about two hours to…”

“Yeah, about two hours.”

She smiled up at him. “What are we going to do for two hours?”

Something in that smile destroyed the last of his good intentions. “We’ll figure something out.” He swept her up into his arms and carried her into the house, holding her as if she weighed nothing, a Rhett Butler move he’d never thought himself capable of making. He strode up the stairs with her and laid her ungently on the bed, parting her robe and unzipping his jeans practically in the same movement. Grabbing a condom from the night-stand, he felt her gaze on him, admiring him. No thought crossed his mind as he entered her, only a burning need
to have her, to be with her, in her, surrounded by her. And the wonder of it was, she said nothing but seemed to understand. Maybe she didn’t realize that it was a sick obsession, that he had no intention of taking this relationship further than he already had, but maybe she didn’t care. And for the moment, he didn’t care, either.