Wildfire (8 page)

"
O
kay," Tanner said, "it's time to get serious."

Rae, dressed in white slacks and a crisp peach-colored blouse, sat on the couch and stared warily at the man standing in front of her. For the past few days she had spent all her free time with him, trying, as he had told her she must, to feel at ease in his company.

Although "at ease" was a state of mind not to be found in proximity to Tanner, at least her hackles no longer rose automatically whenever he walked into sight.

She still couldn't claim she understood him. She doubted anyone really understood him. Trying to know Tanner was like trying to know a summer storm. Just when you got used to the torrential rain, you realized there was still more to come.

Wind and hail. Thunder and lightning. And that occasional burst of brilliant sunshine that sometimes broke through the clouds and always managed to take your breath away.

There were times when Rae would catch a glimpse of the moody wildness in his eyes. And there were times when, for no apparent reason, he would snap at her in anger. But more often than not, he made her laugh. Tanner had an unconventional, irreverent view of the world and all its rules, and he wasn't shy about sharing it.

"Get serious?" She said now as she shifted her position on the couch. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that. It makes me feel like I'm about to enter the Olympic tryouts."

"Did I ask for your opinion? Close your eyes."

She drew back her head in narrow-eyed suspicion. "What are you going to do? If you thump me on the head one more time, I swear I'll—"

"Close your eyes!"

Exhaling a small, irritated breath, she closed her eyes and waited. She didn't know what she was waiting for, but she was pretty sure she wouldn't like it.

"I don't trust you," she muttered. "I do not trust you, Tanner West."

A moment later, when she felt something soft against her face, her eyelids fluttered in surprise.

"Keep your eyes closed," he ordered as the softness began to move across her cheek.

"Am I supposed to guess what it is?" Her brows drew together in concentration. "It's silk. A scarf?"

"This isn't a guessing game." He must have been standing behind the couch, because his voice came from slightly above her. "You're supposed to feel it."

"I feel it."

"I said feel it, Rae." His voice was closer now, more intense. "Put everything else out of your mind and concentrate on the softness, move against it."

Muttering under her breath, she tilted her head to the side, allowing the silky softness to slide lower.

"That's right, but don't just feel it on your skin, feel it all the way through you. Sensual doesn't mean tight skirts and low-cut blouses. It means you revel in the senses. Touch, taste, smell, they all bring pleasure." His voice had dropped, and the low, husky words were a brush of warmth against her ear. "And touch is the most important of all."

Something was definitely happening, she decided silently. As she listened to his voice, coils of tension inside her began to slowly unwind, and her body became caught up in an exquisitely subtle languor.

Either I'm being hypnotized, she thought when her head fell lazily back against the couch, or my first serious involvement in nine years is going to be with a piece of fabric.

As her breathing grew slower and deeper, everything in her was given over to the feel of the silk, and she found herself savoring the slick softness as it moved against her cheek, whispered across her lips, and slid ever so slowly down her throat.

When Tanner spoke again, his voice was the merest trace of sound. "I want you to be aware of textures. As soon as you open yourself up to the sensation, you won't need anything as substantial as silk."

In a process she couldn't begin to explain, the low huskiness of his voice and the slippery softness of the silk began to merge, a bonding of sensations, a coupling of textures, until it was impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.

"Your skin will become responsive to even the most insubstantial touch," he whispered. "You'll feel the blood moving through your veins and the hidden vibrations of the earth. When you walk across a room, you'll feel the air stroking your body like an old, familiar lover. But you won't ever take the sensations for granted; you won't let them simply slide over and around you. You'll absorb them, Rae. You'll open all the warm, hidden places and let them in."

Exhaling a soft sigh, she arched her back slight-

ly, luxuriating in the sound of his voice and the feel of the silk, twin pleasures that had magically become one.

As her sigh faded away, silence spread throughout the room, spilling into every crevice and corner with an almost solid presence.

And then, from somewhere behind her, Tanner cleared his throat loudly. "Okay, I think you're getting the idea."

Rae blinked a couple of times, opened her eyes, and sat up straighter. "That was amazing." Her voice was throaty and soft with awe. "I always thought silk was considered sexy because of the way it looks, putting the sexiness in the observer. I never thought about the way it makes you feel when you're wearing it. .. the way you react to the silk against your skin. Every time you move, you would feel it stroking your—"

"Right, right," he broke in, his voice short as he walked around the end of the couch. "Let's move on to something else now."

"But I'm excited." He had told her he would free up her inner substance, and that was exactly what he was doing. "I'm really learning something. I've worn silk hundreds of times, but I only ever paid attention to how it looked. Why do suppose that is? How did you know—"

"Enough with the silk already!" he snapped in one of his abrupt, incomprehensible mood changes. "I wanted you to be aware of your senses. You're aware. Now we can move on to the next step."

"Which is?"

He pushed a rough hand through his hair and glanced at her. "What?"

She let out a short huff of exasperation. "I don't know what I did to set you off, or for that matter, if it was even something I did. From what I've learned of you in our cockeyed covenant, you can get seriously irate if the sun hits you from the wrong angle."

His lips tightened, his dark eyes flaring at the indictment. "So what's your point?"

"No point." She smiled. "I just wanted to get your attention so we could go on to the next step."

His features relaxed as he gave a low chuckle. "You think you're cute, don't you?" He raised one brow. "Cockeyed covenant?"

She grinned. "Don't complain, I almost said fetid federation. Sometimes the pull of alliteration is too strong for me to resist."

"Try harder," he suggested. "Okay, next we're going to work on the way you look at a man."

"What's wrong with the way I look at men?" Now it was her turn to be irate. "I look at men just like every—"

"I didn't say men," he broke in. "I said man. One man in particular. You treat everyone the same.

Like people. Old Lady Evans or Drew, you make no distinction. You meet their eyes squarely, your expression open and honest, not a subtle invitation in sight. Which may be an asset for Ms. Anderson, ace lawyer, but its's a definite liability for the woman who wants to get her guy."

Although she wanted to argue the point, the honesty he was so quick to disparage wouldn't let her. Because his description of how she dealt with people, Drew included, was right on the money, damn him.

"Get over there by the window," he said, leaning down to push an armchair out of the way. "I'll start at this end of the room. We're going to walk toward each other like we're about to pass on the street."

Moving to the window, she stood with her hands clasped behind her back. "Why is it when someone's watching, you can never figure out what to do with your hands?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake," he snapped in irritation. "Pick up a magazine and pretend it's your briefcase. Nobody ever sees you without it anyway. Okay, start walking. As we get closer, which in reality would be probably, say, a quarter of a block away, you give me the once-over. Start at my feet and work your way up."

She gave him a look. "And in your world, this passes for subtle?"

"Since you think subtle is the same as hiding behind a bush, we'll go with my definition. Look, I'm not telling you to get a horny gleam in your eyes while you stare at his button fly. There shouldn't even be anything suggestive in the look. What you're doing is assessing this particular man as a possible mate."

"I feel silly," she muttered, then seeing his expression added, "I'll do it... but I still feel silly."

Clutching the magazine to her chest with one hand, she began to walk toward him. When she was a couple of yards away, she dropped her gaze to the scuffed, aged boots that showed below the jeans and began working her way up.

She managed his legs without too much difficulty, but when she reached his hips, Rae had to fight the urge to look away, knowing he would make fun of her if she did.

The soft, faded denim stretched across his slim hips and flat stomach like a fine kid glove, molding every muscle, every concave and convex curve, every single—

Feeling slightly flushed, she quickly left the button fly behind and raised her gaze to his chest. Today he wore an old blue work shirt. With more thought to comfort than fashion, the sleeves had been cut away completely, leaving his arms bare. Not a single button on the shirt was fastened, and she wasn't sure if he left it open because he liked it that way or because most of the buttons were missing.

Now there was only his face left. As she drew a step closer, she raised her head slightly and executed a quick study. Unlike his clothes, Tanner's face would never be described as comfortable. It was the strongest face she had ever seen. Like a desert mountain, his features were rugged and mysterious. Timeless.

"Okay," he said when she at last drew level with him, "this is where we stop and do the how-de-doos, maybe talk a little about the weather."

"How-de-do," she said obediently. "Weather, when used as a noun, could be described as the state of the atmosphere with regard to temperature, humidity—"

"Smart-ass," he said with an appreciative grin. "Now it's time for you to tell an amusing anecdote."

She frowned. "What if I don't know an amusing anecdote?"

"Make one up. It doesn't matter what you say, because this isn't about words. It's about hidden messages. I want you to pause at the funny part, laugh, and put a hand on his arm, like you're inviting him to share the joke. What you're really doing is inviting him to share a lot more. Because when you touch him, I want you to meet his eyes and give him The Look. Got it? Good. Now give it a try."

She wiped her free hand on her slacks and moistened her lips, gearing up. "Okay. Okay. Let's see. .. . Did I tell you about old Mr. Peterson and the time he—"

"Enough of the anecdote," he interrupted. "Get to the punch line. Touch, laugh . . . then let him have The Look"

She gave a short nod and cleared her throat. "He said it was the only way he could keep her from bothering him while he was working his crossword puzzles."

Forcing a laugh, she placed her hand on his upper arm and raised her eyes to his.

In her earlier examination Rae had instinctively avoided his eyes, and now she knew why. No one on earth had eyes like Tanner. Things were happening in those dark eyes. Spectacular events were taking place. Battles were being fought.

Look in Tanner's eyes, and you'll see the fires of bell raging.

She drew in a rough breath, reminding herself that looking into Drew's eyes wouldn't make her feel so uneasy.

At that moment Tanner made a short sound of contempt. "Jeez, Rae, is that the best you can do?

You look like you've been hit by a sudden attack of indigestion. There's supposed to be a message in your eyes. Something natural and basic. It should say, 'I'm a woman, you're a man, so what are you gonna do about it?' I know you can do this. I've seen The Look. Find it, turn it on, and you'll have your man wild with wanting you. One hint of it in your eyes, and he'll be fighting the urge to get down on his knees, right there on the street, and stick his tongue in your navel."

He dropped to his knees, threw his arms around her hips, and pressed his face to her stomach.

"You idiot." She slapped at the top of his head, squealing with laughter when she felt his teeth nibbling at her belly through her thin slacks. "Stop. That tickles .. . stop it!" But now she was laughing too hard to push him away. "Tanner ..."

When he finally let go of her and rose to his feet, she gave him one last slap on the arm. "What are you trying to do?" she said, her voice uneven as she smoothed down her clothes. "I look like I've been in a dogfight."

He grinned. "I was trying to undo the zipper with my teeth. Another couple of seconds and I would have had it."

She shook her head. "Crazy man."

Moving to the bed, he flopped back across it, his hands folded beneath his head. "What's crazy about it? Making love through clothes is sexy as hell."

He raised his head and looked at her. "Remember when you and Johnny were in the backseat of his father's Buick? Or the times you ducked into the closet at a party so you could have a few minutes alone? Remember how exciting it was when you wanted to get as close as possible but circumstances wouldn't let you take your clothes off? You had to do the best you could through and around them."