The Christmas Bride (7 page)

“But you're wide-awake, I see,” he commented.

“Yes, well, I was going in—”

“Don't. Come down,” he commanded suddenly.

Cary hesitated. She should go to bed. She shouldn't go down to him. She felt as if little rivers of water were already dancing down her spine.

This was when memory usually kicked in. When she would remember Richard's smile, his laugh, when she would feel so cold and empty…

But this time she didn't see Richard's face before her. She was caught by the powerful, handsome face of the man in the pool below.

“I just heard you say that you wanted to be alone,” Cary murmured.

“Did you?”

Cary flushed. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Well, I did want to be alone—then. But I would very much appreciate your company now. Please, come down. The water is wickedly warm.”

Much, much more than the water was wickedly warm, Cary was certain.

But suddenly she ached for a taste of that warmth. Just a taste. Jason McCready never offered anything more. And she could never take anything more.

But tonight…

Indeed, the wicked warmth seemed to sweep right up and curl around her. She moistened her lips, still hesitating.

“Cary?”

“I'll be right down,” she promised.

And to her amazement, she got quickly into her suit and made her way to the pool. To the warmth.

B
y the time she reached the pool, Cary was wondering why she had come. Jason McCready was no longer at the end of the pool, and she felt rather foolish standing there, looking around for him.

“In here, Mrs.—Cary.”

He'd moved to the Jacuzzi. And he'd watched her arrive. For some reason, that disturbed her.

And there was more to disturb her. There was a tray by his side as he slowly leaned back in the hot swirling water with his eyes on her. There were two glasses of champagne on the tray, and a dish of bite-sized cheeses and shrimp and crackers.

Cary stiffened and tightened the belt on her terry swim robe. But then she heard his husky laughter, and her flesh warmed. “Your quills are bristling, Mrs. Adams.”

“Are they?” she said, looking disapprovingly at the champagne. “Was this for my benefit?”

“It was.”

“Well, you shouldn't have.”

“Why not?”

She waved an arm to indicate nothing—and everything. “Because it's just too…practiced. As if you were going to…”

“Going to what?” He picked up one of the champagne glasses and took a sip.

“If you don't know—”

“If you're assuming that I intend to seduce you, don't you think you're being just a little presumptuous?”

“Oh, my Lord, this whole trip was a mistake. I just knew it—” Cary began, turning, intending to walk quickly away.

But she didn't quite manage it. Jason McCready was out of the Jacuzzi and standing before her, dripping wet, very masculine—and entirely imposing.

“It was a mistake because Danny is having such a miserable time?” he demanded. “Or is it a mistake because you're suddenly afraid of me? Why, I wonder? I'd admired you because you seemed to be the one person who wasn't afraid to say what she was really thinking.”

“I'm not afraid of you!” Cary snapped quickly.

“Then?”

“Then…why did you invite me down?” she blurted.

He smiled. And there was a gentle humor in his eyes. “I like you. You're my guest here. I've been dealing with business all day, and you've been with our children. I thought it might be nice to talk. And, since it's late and it might also be nice to unwind, I ordered champagne and a snack. I thought you might enjoy it. And you just might, you know, if you let yourself.”

She wasn't sure exactly why she felt like such a fool. Maybe she really had been presuming too much. Maybe he didn't find her attractive in the least.

Most probably he was simply stating the truth. And she had been acting like a porcupine.

Her fingers were still knotted over the belt to her robe. Her lashes fell over her eyes. “Is there cocktail sauce for the shrimp?”

“Yes.”

“Well, all right, then.”

She couldn't quite meet his gaze, so she turned, slipped off the robe and stepped into the Jacuzzi. The steaming heat was wonderful. It seemed to reach into all her muscles and smooth away her tension. Jason McCready stepped in, keeping his distance, sitting across from her. He offered her a glass of champagne. She thanked him, and he leaned back, sipping his own.

“How was your day?” he asked her.

“Great,” she said. She told him how the three of them had spent their time. He asked her questions all the while, and it was more the tone of his voice than the warmth of the water that relaxed her. Before she knew it, she was leaning closer and closer. She had consumed half the shrimp, while he had politely preferred the cheese.

And she had allowed him to refill her champagne glass twice.

But when she had finished recounting the day, there was a sudden silence. Jason was leaning back, his head resting on the rim of the Jacuzzi, his eyes half closed.

“Did you…did you design this place?” she asked him.

His eyes opened slightly. They seemed to cast a searing heat as they swept over her. “Yes.”

“I thought so. It's so well planned—” She broke off, willing herself not to flush, because he was staring at her so hard. “You designed it for Sara,” she heard herself say.

He shrugged. “Yes.”

“Then it must bring back painful memories for you.”

He shook his head. “My memories aren't painful. And what difference does it make? According to you, I'm a dating machine.”

“Well, it's foolish,” she told him.

He shrugged again. “It's better than what you do.”

“And what do I do?”

“Start off with your quills bristling.”

“I don't—”

“Did you know that I'm fairly good friends with your cousin Jeremy? Second cousin, actually, isn't it?”

Cary inhaled and gritted her teeth. Jeremy! What had he been saying about her?

“He says that you've gone out three times in three years. And that each time you acted like an ice princess.”

“An ice princess!”

“Yes, an ice princess. And that you never had any intention of enjoying yourself. At least I try.”

“I try, too,” Cary protested.

He sipped more champagne, watching her. Now he didn't look so much like the cat who had eaten the canary. His eyes were still lazy, half closed, but very green as he stared at her.

“Would you quit that!” she snapped.

“Quit what?”

“Well, I may remind you of a porcupine, but at this moment you very much remind me of a crocodile. So laid back and ready to snap my head off at any moment.”

He laughed and leaned toward her. “I'm not going to bite your head off.”

He was close to her. Very close. She could see the water beading on his shoulders and chest, and she was very tempted to touch one of those little beads. She was even tempted to move closer, to taste one of those little drops of water, to put the tip of her tongue against his flesh.

“The…the life you're living is very wrong,” she told him primly. She couldn't draw her eyes from the water…or from his chest. Think! she warned herself. Remember.

“Is it?”

She heard his whisper, and then she knew that they were even closer. She felt his thumb and forefinger stroking her cheek, lifting her chin. And then she felt his lips on hers.

The rushing warmth of the water seemed to sweep through her like a fever, to touch her mouth, her body, her soul, with the same sweet fever. She had never imagined kissing any man besides Richard.

She couldn't imagine not feeling the touch of this man….

He did not seduce; he did not coerce. He gave so much with the hungry pressure of his lips. They molded to hers; they brought a fantastic warmth, a burst of emotions and sensations to fruition within her.

Maybe she had always known that he would kiss like this. With no hesitation, with a sheer provocative mastery. Maybe she had known that his tongue would move, hauntingly, drawing sensual patterns over her lips, delving between them, seeking the deepest recesses of her mouth, bringing a surge of sweet desire, latent so long, rushing like a cascade of wild water through her.

A sound escaped her, soft, like a moan. A sound of pleasure. Perhaps even a sound of desire. She could never accuse him of seducing her. His first touch had been so light. Even that kiss had provided every opportunity for escape. Perhaps at that point it was she who seduced him. For it was her arms that were the first to curl around his neck. It was she who floated against him as the swirling hot waters of the Jacuzzi lent them aid, seeming to fit their bodies so closely together.

He kissed her again. And again. His fingers traveled down her back, stroking her flesh, her form. She pressed against his muscled body, torn by memory, awakened by it. She was never anything but aware that he was a different man, a very different man, from the one she had married, the one she had loved. But for once her senses were swept away. She wanted this man, and the sensations were so acute and demanding that she didn't want to care about anything else.

She was in his arms, on his lap, yearning for more and more of his touch. His lips rose a fraction of an inch above hers, and he whispered softly, “I think we're both relaxed at last.”

“It's the Jacuzzi.”

“No, because not all my muscles are at ease,” he told her.

Her eyes widened, and she might have been awakened to exactly what she was doing. But he kissed her again as his fingers caressed her cheek, her chin, her collarbone, and his arms tightened around her. The hot whirl of the water was not something outside her anymore, but something that was a part of her.

His lips rose from hers again. “We can't stay here.”

“No,” she whispered.

“I want this to go on.” Again he offered her every escape.

“I know.”

“Is it the champagne?”

“It helps, I'm sure,” Cary admitted.

She felt him stiffen. He would walk away now, if she chose. But she didn't choose. She moistened her lips and tightened her arms around him. “Please…” she murmured.

He didn't make her say more. They stepped from the Jacuzzi and walked across the pool area to a door that led to a private stairway. It led, she realized, from the pool area straight to his bedroom.

One light was on. It cast a soft, dim glow over the black comforter that covered the large bed, the mountain prints on the wall, the black and brass and glass of the furniture. Cary saw very little of it, for she kept her gaze on Jason McCready, on the green eyes that remained locked with hers. She shivered suddenly, violently, for despite the heat indoors, she had come wet from the Jacuzzi into the air, and now her flesh was chilled. Not for long. For when he had laid her down, he covered her with the warmth of his own form. His kiss seared her with heat again, and his caress became a touch of fire.

Once more, his gaze caught hers, and he offered her a last escape. “Will you stay?”

She wanted to speak, but she couldn't. She nodded, closed her eyes and wound her arms around him, burying her face against him.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded her, drawing her away. And she did so, meeting his gaze. “Tell me that you want me. Say my name.”

“I want you.”

“My name.”

“Mr. McCready.”

“My first name!” He laughed, and she smiled.

She managed to whisper, “Jason. I want you, Jason.”

Then he asked nothing more of her, and the magic began.

He touched her…just where she longed to be touched.

And he kissed her…just where she longed to be kissed.

Fires rose in the night, the flames sending little licks of sensation to tease and torment and bring sweet pleasure to her. She saw his eyes in the dim magical glow of the night. And she saw his hands, so bronze, so large, so masculine and wonderful, against the pale hue of her own flesh.

And she kissed him. Touched the bare skin of his shoulder with the tip of her tongue, just as she had dreamed of doing.

It had been so long. So achingly long…

And what he offered her was good. So beautifully, perfectly good.

For he made love. He took nothing that he didn't give. He demanded; he shared; he held her; he caressed her. He touched her…so tenderly. And so passionately.

Almost as if he could love her.

And when the sweet whirl of heat and fever rose from pitch to pitch, when the cascade of need and hunger and wanting came swirling to a peak, it burst upon them both with a volatile climax.

The sensations were so strong, so sweet, that Cary's world went black. And when the light came again, she was still trembling, still drifting. Held in his arms, she shook time and time again with the aftermath of pleasure.

And shock.

It wasn't that she was suddenly horrified by what she had done. She had done it with her eyes wide open.

But she had done it without thinking. And though she still lay in his arms with the soft glow of the night a sweet shield around them, the garish rays of daylight would come streaking down upon her tomorrow, and she would have the future to live with.

She bit her lip, thinking that her suit was lying by the bed. Was there any way to slip into it without feeling awkward? Should she say thank you very much what a wonderful time and try to slip casually to her own room?

Good God, how could she ever go to work again? She had to quit! Unless he fired her. No—it was getting so close to Christmas. She couldn't quit. Danny wanted a computer.

She was thinking about a computer at a time like this?

She started to move, but his hold on her tightened. “I—I have to go back,” she said in near panic. “Danny will be waking—”

“At one in the morning?” he said. Those eyes of his were on her again. And he was smiling.

“I have to go back,” she said stubbornly.