The Long Road Home (4 page)

Her gaze narrowed at his retreating back. She’d kill Laura. Tonight, just for a second, she’d actually been mooning over him like some love-crazed teenager. Well, not again. She sank against the doorjamb. Oh, hell! Who was she trying to fool? John still retained the power to turn her mind and body into a quaking mass of need.

CHAPTER THREE

A steel clamp of pain banded around her thigh and calf, squeezing the muscles and tendons till she shot up from bed. After groping around for the lamp’s light switch, she found her pain pills on the nightstand and slipped from the covers.

She lurched to the bathroom, grimacing with each step. Even with a full glass of water, both pills felt like huge gritty stones going down her throat. Fully awake, Clarisse sighed and gave up the attempt to go back to sleep. She glanced at her watch. Not even one in the morning. It was going to be a very long night.

Craving chocolate and ice-cold soda, she snatched her silk housecoat draped over the nearby chair and shrugged into it. She found the ice bucket and opened the door.

In the brightly lit hallway, she remembered her key. Catching the door before it latched shut, she turned. Her gaze fell on a man and woman down the hall. The couple was plastered together in an intimate kiss. The pain in her leg and the craving for sugar vanished.

John stood with his back against the wall, one hand cupping Vivian’s shoulder. Vivian, her mouth fastened onto his, raked red nails into his thick, wavy hair and clutched him to her. Clarisse remained chained to the spot, her gaze locked on the couple. Her stomach twisted into a hard knot of pain.

With Vivian’s mouth still affixed to his, John opened the door and backed into their room. Wanting to remain unobserved, Clarisse stepped quietly into her own room and heard a feminine giggle. Disgusted, she closed her door. The sound of John and Vivian’s door closing immediately followed, vibrating through the hotel walls. John must have kicked it shut with a foot in his hurry to get to the bed.

Appetite gone, Clarisse locked the door and tossed her housecoat back on the chair, not caring if it fell to the floor. She sat on the double sized bed, stretched out her legs and leaned back against the headboard. So they were making love. What did she care? She was over John. It shouldn’t matter.

Through the wall, Clarisse heard voices, faint yet loud enough for her to distinguish between John and Vivian. She dragged in a lung full of air, blocking the sob that rose to her throat. She bit her lip and searched frantically for the remote control. When she found it on the nightstand, she turned on the television and increased the volume.

The television didn’t help. Her overly imaginative mind played out the scene in the adjacent room. Limbs entwined in a hungry embrace, questing hands roaming over sweat glistened bodies.

She remembered how she used to love to skim her fingertips over the large muscles of John’s chest and hover at the buckle of his belt until he sucked in his breath. The corded muscles of his stomach would contract and ripple in anticipation. She had reveled under his unmasked passion, feeling beautiful and every inch a woman.

She squeezed her eyes shut. A yearning for the touch of John’s hands and mouth surged through her body. She gasped aloud. What was wrong with her? Where was her self-control?

Determined to forget her feelings for John, she flipped through a late night talk show with guests she didn’t recognize, a rerun of a sitcom she had never liked, and a B movie of aliens and screaming humans. Disgusted, she turned the television off. Silence covered the room. Not even a whisper penetrated through the wall behind her head.

Clarisse slid under the covers, rested her head on a foam pillow and tried to sleep. The pills must have taken effect, for only a dull throb ran the length of her leg. Soon, the polyester covers and silk nightgown twisted around her waist and legs. After an hour, she gave up all attempts at sleep and found her book. But reading couldn’t soothe the restlessness racing through her mind and body.

Maybe playing a little solitaire would do the trick. She got up and retrieved a deck of cards from her purse. Shuffling them, she ignored the loneliness hovering over her shoulders. She’d been on her own for a number of years now. There were many times she enjoyed the peaceful, quiet moments away from the needs and expectations of others. But tonight was different. With John and his lover next door, with the constant intrusion of her imagination of their lovemaking, she found the silence a mocking, unwelcome visitor.

A craving for something more out of life, a need for a family, a lover, a confidante to whom she could tell her most intimate thoughts slithered into her consciousness.

Exhaustion finally forced her back to bed.

****

She woke to pounding on her door.

“Clarisse?”

“Damn,” she muttered, battling the covers that entangled her limbs. She balled her hands into fists and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Are you ready?” John asked from the other side of the door. “Meet me at the Ford in ten minutes!”

“Just give me a second!”

Quickly, she brushed her teeth and combed her hair. She pulled on a white sleeveless turtleneck, black jeans and matching army boots. Then she stuffed her old clothes into her carryall and went to the office to pay for her room. Fifteen minutes after John’s wake-up call, she paused at the lobby’s doors, catching sight of the Explorer with Vivian and John waiting by its side. Taking a deep breath, she slung her overnight bag and purse over a shoulder and strode to the Explorer. Sweat trickled down the side of her face, and her leg pounded with every step. She was tempted to say the hell with the pretense. But the image of John looking at her with distaste and pity lifted her chin and stilled her tongue.

“What happened to you? Are you sick?” John helped her thrust the bag through the Explorer’s open hatch. “You look worse than yesterday.”

“I’m fine.”

He stood by the open door of the driver’s side in scuffed boots, low slung jeans, and a faded navy blue t-shirt. His well-worn pants were bleached almost white at the knees and seams. A disreputable hole slashed across one knee. The sun glittered off his blue-black hair, still wet from a morning shower. A healthy flush warmed his cheeks. He looked so damn fit and handsome. Clarisse found it disgusting.

“I’m fine,” Clarisse repeated. Realizing she sounded cross, she made an effort to lighten her voice. “I didn’t get much sleep. I have a hard time adjusting to a strange bed.”

Clarisse scrabbled awkwardly into the back seat. Vivian turned around and wrinkled her nose. “You look absolutely terrible! Maybe you’ve got some type of virus after all. Do you think you should see a doctor?”

Jaw tensing, Clarisse controlled her temper. She told herself Vivian wasn’t trying to be offensive. “I’m fine.”

“Well, if I didn’t run to the store last night with John, I’d look sick, too.” Vivian pursed her lips. “I had to buy an entire new supply of makeup. John forgot one of my bags. And of course, it was my most important one.”

“I picked up everything sitting by your front door.” John grabbed the wheel and slid into the front seat. He slammed the door shut behind him.

“Well, obviously you missed one.” Vivian subsided in her seat. “That bag didn’t just have my makeup. It had my dress for the wedding. We’ll have to stop someplace—maybe Dallas or Phoenix—so I can get a new one.”

“That might delay us for almost a half-day,” Clarisse felt compelled to say.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I need a dress. I didn’t bring another that’s suitable for a wedding.” The seat bounced as Vivian flung her head back against the headrest.

“You could have Susan mail it to San Diego,” John said.

Vivian snorted. “I can’t trust her. She probably won’t put enough postage on it!”

“Like I told you last night, I’ll figure something out.”

“Does anyone have a map I can look at?” Clarisse broke in. Sticking her nose into the fray was preferable than listening to any more of Vivian’s complaints.

In the rearview mirror, she caught John’s gaze. He seemed almost grateful as he nodded. “There’s one—”

“We should have just flown,” Vivian interrupted. “It would have made everything so much easier. We’d be there by now.”

“You know I didn’t want to fly. I’ve got some extra time right now, and I’m not going to pass up a perfect opportunity to take some shots of the country on the way back, try something different than portraits and the like.” John’s voice lowered and turned deceptively soft, a sure sign that he was angry. “And I’m sorry you find the whole situation distasteful, but you’re going to have to live with it until we get to San Diego.”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say. You’re driving. It’s not so boring behind the wheel.”

Clarisse heard John’s long drawn out sigh. “Did you want to drive?”

“Sure. Maybe then, we could get there faster.”

Wearily, Clarisse sank her head back against her seat and closed her eyes. A dull pain throbbed across her temples. Clarisse marveled at John’s patience. Granted, he had always been a patient man, but even a saint would have difficulty dealing with Vivian’s complaints.

“We’ll switch at the next gas station,” John snapped, appearing to have lost some of his patience.

“Don’t tell me we have to use their bathroom.”

“Vivian, just drop it. I know you’re angry about last night, but can’t it wait until we’re somewhere private?”

Vivian’s mouth snapped shut. Silence descended across the interior of the vehicle. By the way they were acting, it looked liked last night’s passionate encounter hadn’t been so fulfilling. Clarisse didn’t want to think what that meant or why such a thought filled her with pleasure. It was none of her business if they had an unstable relationship.

Clarisse didn’t bother asking for the map again. Instead, she looked out the window. A sign flashed past. They were still on Interstate 70 and about to cross the Illinois state line. Maybe if they kept to the road for the next eight hours, they could get through St. Louis and part of Missouri.

John stopped at the next rest area and exchanged seats. She closed her eyes against the slamming of the driver’s door as Vivian slid behind the wheel. Tires gripped the road and squealed loudly. The Explorer jerked forward, and they sped out of the rest area.

Clarisse swore under her breath and watched the landscape race past. Damn, but the woman was crazy. She just hoped the redhead drove safely. Granted, with her behind the wheel, they’d get to San Diego faster.

Wanting her purse from under the other seat, Clarisse unbuckled her seat belt. Suddenly, an explosion roared through the Explorer. The vehicle bucked, then veered sharply to the left. A high piercing wail stabbed her ears as metal scraped across asphalt. The Explorer swerved right and jerked forward. Her head slammed into the back of the front seat. The Explorer screeched to a halt. Clarisse flew off the seat and crashed onto the floor. Her leg twisted and curled under her weight. She gasped in pain and unsuccessfully tried to pull herself into a sitting position.

“Did you see that? All of a sudden the whole thing jerked to one side.” Vivian banged her hand on the horn. It bleated in protest.

“You were able to get us on the side of the road in one piece.” John squeezed Vivian’s shoulder.

Finally, Clarisse managed to drag herself up onto her seat. She closed her eyes against the pain. Memories of the plane crash exploded in her mind. Dark billowing smoke and the pungent smell of fuel swirled around her, choking the breath from her lungs. Flames twisted, danced and lapped at her leg, searing her clothing and flesh. Bile rose to her throat.

She stumbled out of the car and landed on the soft shoulder of the road, battling the nausea and faintness. Over the throbbing in her ears, the sound of cars zooming back and forth on the freeway echoed in her head. A semi-truck roared past, slapping her blonde hair across her cheeks and eyes.

“We have a flat,” someone said.

“Clarisse! Are you hurt?”

She heard John’s voice from a distance as she took deep heaving breaths and leaned a brow against the window of the Explorer.

“You’re limping!”

“I think I twisted my ankle,” Clarisse lied, turning away.

“Here. You need to sit down.”

John’s muscled arm closed around her and urged her to the back of the vehicle. He opened the hatch and gently guided her down on the end.

“Let me look at your ankle.”

“No!”

She pulled away, thrusting against his chest, almost kicking him with her good leg in her panic to stop him from lifting her pant leg.

“Where’s the spare?” Vivian asked impatiently, sliding out from behind the wheel. “It’s been ages since I’ve changed a flat.”

“Just a second!” John growled. “Clarisse’s hurt!”

“I sprained my ankle awhile back,” Clarisse said quickly. “It’s still a little weak. I guess the fall must have aggravated it.”

“Why don’t you let me look at it just to make sure?” John murmured beside her.

“I’ve got some painkillers.” She inhaled once, twice. “They’re in my purse. In the side pocket.”

In less than a minute, John returned with the pills and a water bottle. She took both.