If You Can't Stand the Heat... (Harlequin Kiss) (13 page)

‘Upstairs?’ he whispered, and Ellie felt the word and his breath drift over her face.

She nodded, ordered her legs to move and lightly ran up the stairs. She turned into her darkened bedroom and realised that Jack was a second behind her. He yanked her to him and walked her backwards to her big double bed. She felt the mattress dip under her weight, and dip some more as she was pushed on her back and Jack crawled over her.

She felt one of the straps of her dress fall down a shoulder and Jack’s lips on her smooth skin. He was everything she’d ever wanted, she thought: strong, sexy, amazingly adept at making heat and lust pool in her womb. She’d never felt so intimately invested in a kiss, an embrace...so desperate to have his mouth on her, his fingers on her, to touch him, explore him, know him.

This could mean something, Ellie thought. This could mean something...huge.

Jack sat back on his haunches and pulled her up, kissing her as his hands looked for the zip at the back of her dress. Cool air touched her fevered skin as his hands wandered and soothed, danced over her skin, while his tongue did an erotic tango with hers.

Then her dress fell to her waist and she half sat, half lay in her strapless bra, her torso open to his hot gaze.

It had been so long. She’d half forgotten what to do. Should she undo the buttons of his shirt, pull it over his head? Let him do it himself? Could she do that? Should she do that? Ellie brushed her hand over his hip and felt the padding of his dressing. Another thought dropped into her scrambled head. Should he even be doing this? What if he pulled the skin apart and he started bleeding again?

‘Your cut...’ Ellie murmured, sitting up in an effort to escape those searing eyes.

‘Is fine,’ Jack replied, stroking her from shoulder to hand.

Ellie rested her forehead on his collarbone and sighed. She wanted this, wanted to immerse herself in this experience with him, but suddenly her mind was jumping around like a cricket on speed, playing with thoughts that were not conducive to inspiring or maintaining passion. Thoughts like, What did this mean to him? To her? With all her previous lovers—okay, all two of them—she’d felt and given love and thought that that love was reciprocated to a degree. There was nothing like that with Jack. They had nothing more between them than a burgeoning friendship and a searing, burning passion.

It had been so long since Darryl, and she was so out of practice. Would she be enough for him? She had enough pride to want to get this right. Was she knowledgeable enough, sexy enough, passionate enough to make this something that he’d remember?

Jack pulled her dress over her head and ran his index finger above the edge of her bra, his finger tanned against her creamy skin. Ellie looked down at his finger and closed her eyes, confused and bemused. She wanted him, but she wasn’t wholly convinced that she was ready...

She should say no. She needed to say no...

Jack looked down at her breasts spilling over her frothy bra and thought that he’d never seen anything as beautiful in his life. Her skin had a luminosity that he’d never seen before—the palest blush on a creamy rose. Her ribcage was narrow, her arms slim, and her fingers were still on his hip. He could feel the heat in them through his pants, as tangible as her very sudden, very obvious mental retreat.

Going, going...oh, crap...
gone
.

Jack knew that he could kiss her, could stoke those fires again, but if she wasn’t as fully in the moment with this as he was—had been—then it wasn’t fair to her or—
dammit—
to him. He wanted her engaged, body, mind and soul. He could have physical sex with other women. He wanted,
expected
more from Ellie. Why and how much more he wasn’t sure, but still...

Jack ran his hand over her head and sat back, his knees on either side of her legs. Ellie looked at him with big, wide eyes the colour of blue moonlight and ran her tongue over her top lip. He really wished she wouldn’t do that...it made him think of the plans he’d had for that tongue. Hot, wicked, sexy plans.

Dammit... He sighed.

There were a bunch of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. All of them valid. He was here for a limited time and she wasn’t the type of girl who indulged in brief affairs. They were already living in the same house, so if they slept together they’d step over from friendship into sex-coloured friendship which was the gateway for affection, which led to attachment and a myriad of complications.

And what if that happened and he found himself liking living with her and not wanting to leave? How could he reconcile that with the promise he’d made to himself and to others that he’d live life to its fullest? His hard, fast, take-no-prisoners lifestyle—a life spent on planes, trains and hotel rooms—was not conducive to a full-time lover and invariably led to disappointment and sometimes to disaster.

‘Jack?’

Jack blinked and lifted his eyebrows. ‘Mmm?’

‘You’re a bit...heavy,’ Ellie said in a small voice.

Jack immediately moved off her legs and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘No, it’s okay. Just...um...need to get my blood circulating,’ Ellie said in a jerky voice.

Jack sat sideways on the bed and thought that Ellie looked breathtaking in the low light that spilled into the room from the passage. Her mouth was soft and inviting and her hair was mostly out of its elaborate style, falling in waves over her shoulders.

Jack, all concerns forgotten, started to lean forward, intent on kissing the life out of her, but he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. They were round and slightly scared—and utterly, comprehensively miserable. He wondered how long it would take for her to call it quits, how far she’d take him down the road before she realised that she wasn’t mentally ready to sleep with him.

It turned out not to be long at all...

‘I’m sorry.’ Ellie’s voice was jerky and full of remorse. ‘I really can’t do this.’

So, she did have guts. Good to know, Jack thought. And at least she was honest.

‘Okay.’

Jack saw Ellie cross her arms over her chest so he stood up and walked over to her bedroom door, unhooked her dressing gown. He passed it to her and moved on to stand at her open window, looking out at the dark night. When he turned around again Ellie’s gorgeous body was covered, chest to knee, in a silky wrap that was almost as heart-attack-inducing as the dress she’d worn earlier.

He had to get out of her room before he did something he would regret. Like haul her back into his arms.

So he walked over to her and dropped a kiss on her temple. ‘It’s late. Maybe we should get some sleep.’

He thought it was a tragedy when Ellie didn’t try to stop him when he walked out of the room.

* * *

Ellie woke, dressed and stumbled down the stairs half asleep. The noise of the television from the lounge jerked her fully awake and immediately caused memories of the previous night to rush back with the power of a sumo wrestler. She groaned. Jeez, she’d had all the sophistication of a pot plant. It had been so long, and she’d been so nervous, so self-conscious and hadn’t been able to stop the weird thoughts buzzing around her head. She’d been worried about him seeing her naked and she’d stressed about whether he would stay the night with her, how much foreplay he expected and whether he was enjoying himself.

She’d been unable to let go, and if she was so attracted to him shouldn’t she be able to lose herself in him? Wasn’t that what lust-filled lovers did?

Ellie stood in the doorway to the lounge and stared at her wooden floor.

‘Morning,’ Jack said from the corner of the room, where he sat in a violet chair, leaning forward, his hands loose between his knees.

Elle lifted her head and squinted at him. ‘Morning. How long have you been up?’

‘Not too long.’

Ellie rested her hand on the doorframe. ‘I’ll go and make coffee.’

Jack nodded to a steaming cup of coffee that stood on the coffee table. ‘I heard you moving around as I came down the stairs so I made you a cup.’

‘Thanks.’ Ellie walked across the room to pick up her cup and wrapped her hands around it. The purple elephant was back and was laughing like a maniac. But she wasn’t going to consider raising the subject. It was embarrassing enough thinking about it. Talking to him about it would be absolutely impossible!

And that was even before she realised how preoccupied and distant Jack looked.

‘I thought I’d get caught up with what’s happening in the world. Do you mind?’ he said.

‘No.’

He gestured to the TV. ‘Your dad is in Kenya, reporting on the riots.’

Okay, she’d go with world politics if that was all he had. ‘They are having elections soon,’ he added.

She
so
didn’t care. She wanted to know what he was going to do now, how she was supposed to act. Ellie bit her lip, walked further into the room and looked at her father’s familiar face on the screen.

‘He’s looking tired.’ Ellie sat down on the couch and tucked her legs up under her as Mitchell answered questions from the anchor in New York.

‘He texted me earlier. He thinks there’s big trouble brewing.’

Jack turned up the volume on the TV set and she listened with half an ear as Mitchell spoke about the situation in Kenya.
He’s nearly sixty
, Ellie thought, wondering whether he had any thoughts about retiring. Because that wasn’t something he’d ever discuss with
her
.

‘I’m going there.’

Ellie took a moment to assimilate his statement. ‘Going where?’

‘To Kenya. A massive bomb was found and defused and the country is on a knife edge. I have contacts there,’ Jack explained. He lifted his cup. ‘I’m going to head out as soon as I’ve finished my coffee.’

‘Ah...’

‘I’m the closest reporter, and if I can get on a flight now I’ll be with Mitch within a couple of hours. He’s going to need help covering this.’

‘Why?’

Jack frowned. ‘It’s news, Ellie, and news is my job. I know Nairobi. I want to be there.’

Ellie’s heart sank. Of course he did. It didn’t matter that he was beaten up, hurt and tired, or that he’d kissed her senseless, there was a story and he needed to follow it. It was the nature of the beast.

The fact that she was acting like a nervous, awkwardly shy Victorian nerd was also a very good excuse for him to run from her—fast and hard. Could she blame him?

Ellie refocused as Jack answered his ringing mobile. ‘Hey, Andrew. No, I managed to get a seat on the next flight out to Nairobi. I’ll be at the airport in—’ he looked at his watch ‘—an hour. In the air in three.’

It took forty-five minutes to get to the airport, which left fifteen minutes for him to pack up and walk out of her life, Ellie thought. Last night she’d been lost in this man’s arms and this morning he was making plans to walk out through the door without giving her a second thought.

And that just summed up all her experiences with war reporters. Nothing was more important than the story...ever.

Ever.

* * *

Jack leaned forward in his seat. He really didn’t want to be on this plane, was unenthusiastic about going to Kenya, but all through the night, unable to sleep, he’d known that he couldn’t stay with Ellie, that he needed to get some distance. From her...from the feelings she pulled to the surface.

Last night, for the first time in years, he’d allowed himself to become mentally engaged with a woman, and in doing so he’d caught a glimpse of all that he was missing by not allowing that intimate connection. The warmth of her smile, the richness of her laughter, her enjoyment of being with him all added another layer to the constant sexual buzz that took it from thrilling to frightening.

They’d been emotionally and physically in sync and he’d loved every second of the previous evening—even if she had called a halt to it. Hell, he’d loved every minute of the past few days. He could, if he let himself, imagine a lifetime of evenings drinking wine on the veranda, taking evening walks with her, making love to her.

Brent had never got to experience anything like this....

The thought chilled him to the bone.
Brent.
And, dear God, he needed to make a decision about going to that memorial service, to face his family...to face his demons, the never-ending guilt of being alive because that teenage boy was dead.

Jack rubbed his face. If he hadn’t had a heart transplant, if he’d grown up normal, what would his life be like? Where would he be? What would he be? Would he be married yet? Have kids?

How much of his reluctance to get involved was his own reticent nature and how much was driven by guilt? Was he avoiding love and permanence not only because he felt that his job didn’t allow it but also because he felt he didn’t deserve it? That if Brent couldn’t have it why should he?

He already had his heart—was he entitled to happiness with it as well? Jack let out a semi-audible groan.

The elderly lady next to him, with espresso eyes and cocoa skin, laid an elegant hand on his arm.

‘Are you all right, my dear?’

Jack dredged up a smile. ‘Fine, thanks.’ He saw doubt cross her face and shrugged. ‘Just trying to work through some stuff.’

She rattled off a phrase in an African language he didn’t recognise.

‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘African proverb. Peace is costly but it is worth the expense.’

Indeed.

SEVEN

Ellie snapped at
one of her staff and, after apologising, realised that she desperately needed a break from the bakery. Taking a bottle of water from the fridge, she walked out through the front door into the strong afternoon sunlight. Checking for cars, she walked across the street and sat on the concrete wall that separated the beach from the promenade and stretched out her bare legs. She flipped open the buttons of her chef’s tunic and shrugged it off, allowing the sea breeze to flow over her bare shoulders in her sleeveless fuchsia top.

It had been four hellish days since Jack’s abrupt departure. She had the concentration span of a flea and her thoughts were a galaxy away from her business and her craft.