It Was Only a Kiss (10 page)

She wanted this, Jess told herself. She
needed
this. If she was going to do this then she had to surrender to the moment, to stop thinking and enjoy this hard-bodied, hard-eyed man who had the ability to make her skin hum. For the first time in her adult life Jess switched off her brain and surrendered herself to the physical.

His hand, warm against her, made her feel intensely female. Sensation bombarded her. The rough spikes of his beard as he dropped kisses on her jawline. His tongue wet and warm in the dent of her collarbone. The amazing contradiction between that heat of his mouth and the icy air on her skin.

Jess couldn’t stop her hands from roaming up and under his jersey and shirt. She explored the wedge of fine hair on his chest. She traced the ridges of his stomach muscles, groaned at that particular patch of skin just beneath his hipbone that was so soft, so smooth, so male. Her thumb, sneaking beneath the waistband of his jeans, swiped over the long muscles in his hip, exploring the wonderfulness of him.

Luke groaned and lifted his head. He rested his arm against the wall above her head and his forehead against hers. ‘I love the way you touch me.’ He cursed. ‘But we can’t do this here. I want you where I can see you, taste you, enjoy every inch of you.’

‘Well, then, maybe you should take me home.’

‘That sounds like an excellent plan.’

EIGHT

The next morning
Jess
pretended to be asleep when Luke silently slipped out of bed. Risking a peek, she saw the glorious back view of him as he headed for the
en-suite
bathroom.

So...no morning cuddle for her, obviously. Thank God.

Jess pushed herself up in the bed, pulled the sheets over her chest and leaned her head against the headboard. Damn, damn and—just for a change—damn again.

What the hell had she done?

Jess looked around the room and saw evidence of their crazy lust-filled night everywhere she looked. One of her leather boots was on top of the credenza. She couldn’t see the other one. Her pink bra dangled off the lampshade. Her T-shirt was...Jess frowned and peered off the end of the bed...nowhere to be seen. Where had it gone? Jess rewound and remembered that Luke had pulled it off in the hallway, shortly after he’d started stripping her as soon as he’d pulled her through the front door. Her jeans were on the stairs—along with his shirt, shoes and jersey.

Panties? There was no point in worrying about them. They were history since Luke hadn’t tried to take them off—he’d just ripped the thong apart and pulled it away.

Could anyone say ‘awesome sex’?

Could anyone say ‘big, huge, monstrous regret’?

Jess scrubbed her face with her hands. He’d been a fantastic lover: tender, demanding, controlled, sensual and generous in turn. He’d turned her to liquid fire, inside out and... And she couldn’t do it again.

It was simply too much of an amazingly good thing. And she wasn’t remotely in control of any of it. She couldn’t control her reaction to Luke’s touch. He just had to look at her with those eyes filled with passion and she was his for the taking—battling to control the situation, the way he made her feel...

And, damn it again, her cuddle hormone was beetling around her body, gleefully singing, ‘It
could
be a stylish marriage; he
can
afford a carriage’.

And all because she’d been idiot enough to sleep with him. Okay, not much sleeping had happened, but she was splitting hairs. She’d allowed those feelings of attachment a little piece of fertile soil to take root. She’d have to dig up the bed before they took a firm hold and—what was with the gardening metaphors? She didn’t even garden!

Jess dropped her head. Maybe this was more than sex, more than the scratching of a mutual itch... Because she now felt exposed, vulnerable, scared. So very out of control.

She couldn’t allow it to happen again. Sleeping with Luke was
not
an option. If she felt this unhinged mentally and emotionally after one night, she’d be a train wreck after a week or so. And probably fathoms deep in love with him. And, not insignificantly, she had no intention of being that girl who was hopelessly devoted to a guy who did not feel the same way.

‘You’re awake and your mental wheels are spinning.’

Look at her—all mussed and grumpy, hair a mess and those fabulous eyebrows drawn together in an ominous scowl. Luke thought that he’d never seen her looking lovelier...and less accessible.

‘Luke, I—’

Luke tucked in the end of the towel that rode low on his hips, walked over to the window and pulled apart the curtains. He didn’t need to hear her words to know what it was that she wanted to say. It was written in neon ink all over her face.
Last night was a mistake...

‘We can’t do this again.’

It didn’t matter that he agreed with her. Her words still held all the sting of a powerful slap. Luke winced and placed his hands on the broad windowsill, looking out over his lands.

‘Okay.’

‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ Jess demanded, annoyance in every syllable.

Oh,
now
she wanted to discuss it? Why didn’t she just put his pecker in a wringer and be done with it? ‘You said we can’t do it again. I agreed. Did you expect me to argue with you? Force you? Beg you?’

‘No. I—I just thought that you might have an opinion...’

That it had been the best sex of his life? That he’d been mentally, emotionally blown away? That he could picture her in his bed when they were old and grey? That he knew that was impossible...?

Luke heard the rustle of bedclothes and looked over his shoulder to see Jess stalk—his mouth dried up—stark naked over to his cupboard and yank the doors open. She pulled a rugby jersey over her head and rolled the long sleeves up and over her hands. The hem of the garment skimmed her pretty knees and draped over her perfect breasts.

‘Well, then, I suppose there’s not much else to say,’ Jess stated as she plucked her bra from the lampshade.

She bent down, briefly flashing the top of her thighs, and when she stood up a scrap of black lace fabric dangled from her finger. Her thong—which he’d destroyed with a quick twist.

‘Except that you owe me a thong.’

* * *

Jess looked at Sbu and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, there’s something missing.’

He was going to kill her, he really was, Luke thought as muted groans from the crew floated across the room. He caught a couple of eye-rolls from the other actors and knew exactly how they felt. They had a right to be frustrated, Luke thought. They’d been filming for the best part of the day: a mock Sunday lunch, drinking wine in front of the fire. She’d even had Luke playing chess with a father-like figure.

They were supposed to be showing him in a family/friends situation, but he knew that the entire day had been an absolute waste of everyone’s time. His especially, since he was the only one in the room who wasn’t being paid for his time.

‘Take a break, everyone,’ Jess said, and Luke walked out of the formal lounge of the manor house, where they’d been filming an after-dinner scene. Ducking into the empty study next door, he placed his hands on the back of a wingback chair and sucked in air. He knew that he was mostly responsible for the cock-up that was today. He hadn’t managed to deliver the goods. He was stiff and uncomfortable and, as Sbu had pointed out, he would come across on film as being irritated and annoyed.

Mostly because he was.

They wanted to show off his home, his heritage, filled with laughing, happy people, and Luke looking relaxed and at home. Except that he wasn’t. Luke walked up and down the Persian runner, its rich jewel tones perfectly complemented by the wooden floorboards. He wasn’t relaxed and feeling at home because this wasn’t his home. He might own it and be the last Savage, but he had no emotional connection to this house, the furniture, to the fact that his forefathers had walked these halls, to the long-ago Savage wife who had ordered this carpet.

He had the dysfunctional relationship with his father to thank for that.

It didn’t help that he and Jess were barely talking. When they did, they were stiff and uptight, tiptoeing around each other. It made him feel uncomfortable and uptight and...dammit...so lonely.

You’re feeling sorry for yourself, Savage. Suck it up.
But acting out his childhood fantasy hurt like hell, and all that got him through was thinking of Jess and the night he’d spent in her arms. It had been a fantasy, perfection, emotionally and physically fulfilling. He’d found himself wanting to lose himself in her not only physically but mentally as well. He wanted to know her secret hopes, her biggest fears, her first memories.

Mercia, ex-wife and amateur psychologist, had once told him he had abandonment issues. Because his mother had left him and his father had never been available he wasn’t able to commit emotionally, to let anyone in, to be intimate. Until the other night that had been true, and the knowledge terrified him.

He couldn’t afford to feel emotionally connected to Jess...because if he did and she walked away he didn’t think his heart would recover.

No, it was better this way...it
had
to be better this way.

‘Luke?’

Luke lifted his head and saw Jess in the doorway, her eyebrows pulled together and her eyes radiating determination. She’d been a pain in the ass all day—demanding, precise, determined. Unbending and an utter control freak. ‘We’re ready for you. Sbu and I have rewritten the storyboard...’

He was done. There was no way he was going back in front of a camera and selling his perfect life. His father had done that all
his
life...acted affectionately towards him in company and treated him terribly when they were alone. He was done with it.

‘Not happening, Sherwood,’ Luke said in his most even tone—the one his friends recognised as deeply dangerous.

‘Luke—Sbu is costing me a bomb. He charges by the hour so I’m burning money here. Can we get on with it?’

Her snotty tone had his hackles lifting. ‘The cost of which will be passed to me, so don’t pull that on me! I’m calling it a day, Jess, leave it at that.’

Sparks flashed in Jess’s eyes. ‘What is wrong with you? I have a room full of actors and equipment and crew who are all waiting on you. Let’s just get it done.’

‘What is wrong with
me
? What is wrong with
you
?’ Luke’s voice lifted. ‘How could you do this to me, Jess? Is winning awards and making spectacular adverts more important to you than people’s feelings?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Jess demanded.

She genuinely didn’t know... Luke felt a knife embed itself in his chest. How could she, the woman he’d felt the closest emotional connection to ever, not realise how difficult this was for him? He walked past her and slammed the door closed.

‘Luke!’

‘This house! Playing happy families! It’s my worst freaking nightmare. Pretending that I had one is killing me!’ Luke roared. ‘This was my father’s office. Do you know how many times he took a belt to my backside in here?’

‘I thought—’

‘That corner where we were pretending to play chess? I caught him screwing my favourite au-pair there. She left the next day. I was seven and I thought that my world had come to an end.’

Jess covered her face with her hands. Luke stormed up to her and pulled them away. Tears brimmed in her eyes and they just made him angrier. He’d never told anybody this and he couldn’t stop.

‘The painting above the fireplace? Its frame is cracked at the corner. That’s because he threw a glass at me when I was fifteen. It bounced off my cheek, cracked it, then hit the frame and cracked that. Do you want me to go on?’

‘No! I’m sorry—I’m so sorry... I didn’t think.’

Luke stormed away from her. ‘I
knew
giving the contract to you was a mistake—I knew letting you back into my life was a mistake. I knew I was going to regret it.’

He heard Jess’s sob and felt that knife slice his heart apart. He turned and looked at her, and cursed when he saw that she was shaking like a leaf. He resisted the urge to pull her into his embrace, to comfort her with his touch, to stroke away those feelings of hurt, replace the loneliness and confusion with passion...

Was that what he wanted to do to her or was it what he wanted from her?

The only thing he was certain of was that shooting was done for the day. Luke placed his hands behind his head and lowered his voice. ‘Get rid of the crew, Jess, and leave me alone, okay?’

Jess nodded, turned and left. Luke, as he always had as a child, got out of his father’s study as quickly as he could.

* * *

She was a horrible, horrible person, Jess thought as she pounded down the dirt road away from St Sylve. How could she have got so caught up in her job, in the campaign, and not realised the impact it would have on Luke? He’d told her a little of his father, that he didn’t feel as if St Sylve was his home, but she’d been so bedazzled by the grandeur and beauty of the house and the furniture and the concept of St Sylve that she’d ignored and/or dismissed Luke’s feelings.

She remembered thinking when she’d put the storyboard together that if she got it right there would be another industry award in it for her. The setting was magical, the hero gorgeous, the story tugged at the heartstrings. At the very least it would sell a shedload of wine...

She was embarrassed, humiliated...disgusted with herself. Awards were not worth hurting Luke for. She was such a weasel.

Jess picked up her pace. She needed to run...run off this churning emotion, outrun her self-anger, the confusion, his words that were running on a never-ending loop in her head...

‘I knew letting you back into my life was a mistake...’

Jess ran blindly, not sure where she was going, barely aware that the light was fading, that black clouds were threatening a deluge and that she was in an unfamiliar part of St Sylve. The road was becoming more rocky but she pushed on, wanting the burn of her muscles, hoping for a rush of endorphins that would make her feel partly human and not a complete jerk. How could she fix this? She had to fix this... He was too important to her and she cared about him too much to brush this under the carpet.

She’d apologise, obviously, grovel if she needed to. She’d ask him if they could try to be friends again, make him realise that while she was occasionally thoughtless she wasn’t by nature cruel.

She had to fix this...she
had to
.

Jess yelled as her foot brushed over a rock in the road and she went sprawling. Putting her hands in front of her, she cried out as her palms skidded along the stones and time slowed down. She hit the deck and her knees connected with the hard ground. Then her right shin caught the sharp edge of a rock and she felt her skin split open and the warmth of blood on her leg.

It was probably no less than she deserved, Jess thought as she rolled onto her back, grabbed her burning leg and sobbed liked a child.

* * *

Where was she? Luke looked at his watch again. It was past six, fully dark, raining, and Jess still wasn’t home. He’d come back from the lands as she was leaving for a run and he’d watched her swift pace down the road. Still annoyed, he’d headed for his study and immediately immersed himself in work. When he’d surfaced, two hours later, he’d realised that the manor house was solidly dark—which meant that Jess still wasn’t home.

Luke’s stomach clenched as he yanked on his jacket. Which way had she gone? Where did he start looking? Grabbing a torch from a drawer and his car keys, Luke headed towards the kitchen door and jerked it open. As he stepped out he saw the shapes of his dogs running towards him, followed by a slow-moving Jess.