THE MILLIONAIRE SHE MARRIED Page 11

  "Oh, please. As if she died just to spite you."

  "That's not what I meant. My point is, she's gone. I found her only to lose her again. This time, for good—and I can see in those eyes of yours what you're thinking. Yes, she did tell Alec about me in the end. And I'm here, sticking it out right through her funeral because you insisted. But after this, I'm finished. I've had enough of family reunions to last me a lifetime." He picked up his brandy again and drank the last of it. Then he set down the empty glass once more.

  "And as for Alec," he said, "the man lost his wife. It hurts. And you personally are not going to be able to make it stop hurting. Only time will do that. If he's lucky." He stood. "I'm going to bed."

  She let him get halfway across the room before she stopped him. "Mack."

  He turned. "What?"

  She admitted, "You're right. About Alec, anyway."

  He didn't smile, but at least his expression relaxed a little. "I know I am. Good night." He went into his bedroom.

  She whispered, "Good night, Mack," after he had shut the door.

  * * *

  The next day they drove up into the greater Los Angeles area. They visited Westwood Village, even drove by the apartment where they had met and been so happy together.

  "It looks a little run-down."

  "Mack. It looked a little run-down when we lived there."

  "I guess. Maybe I just remember it through a kind of rosy haze."

  His words pleased her, inordinately so. "You do?"

  "It was a good time, Jenna."

  "Yes. It was."

  That little Italian place where they'd eaten that first night was still there. They couldn't resist going inside, where the light was dim and dusty plastic grapes hung from fake trellises overhead and between each of the booths.

  They decided to go all out and order the meal they'd shared that first night: salads and linguini with white clam sauce and a glass each of the house Chianti.

  When the linguini came, Mack tasted it and shook his head. "It's not as good as I remember it."

  She answered lightly, "Nothing ever is."

  He looked at her across the table, his gaze tender and seeking as a caress. "I disagree. Some things are every bit as good. In fact, they're even better—or they could be, if you'd give them a chance."

  "I think I am. Giving them a chance."

  He grudgingly admitted that yes, she was. But he wished that she'd give them even more of a chance.

  She twirled her fork in her linguini and decided it would be wiser not to reply.

  After lunch they cruised east along Sunset, checking out the latest Rock and Roll billboards. And then they drove down Hollywood Boulevard

  , which was still just as tacky as both of them remembered.

  It was after three when they headed back to Long Beach. Traffic was terrible. It took them an hour and a half to get to the hotel. They listened to an oldies station and sang along, inventing their own lyrics when the real words escaped them.

  Mack caught her looking for a message light when they entered the suite.

  "Uh-oh," he said. "No messages. No one calling us. No one we have to call. It's just you and me tonight."

  She thought of dear, sweet Alec, and hoped he was all right. And she remembered her sister, that strange breathless quality to her voice. But she didn't mention either Doreen's husband or Lacey. It didn't seem the time for that, somehow.

  Tomorrow there would be Doreen's funeral to get through. They would call early, to ask Alec if there was anything he needed, anything he'd like them to do.

  But today was just for her and Mack. And the time had come when she had to admit to herself that she wanted it that way.

  "A swim?" Mack said.

  It sounded like a wonderful idea to her.

  * * *

  The temperature was in the low eighties. More than warm enough to sunbathe on deck chairs after a dip in the Olympic-size pool. They put two banana-style lounges head to head, lay down on their stomachs and whispered to each other as the water dried on their skin. After a while, Mack laid his cheek on his crossed arms and closed his eyes.

  Jenna rested her chin on her hands and thought how really good he looked, so tanned and fit. She tried not to let her gaze linger on his strong arms, with their dusting of golden hair. She had always loved the feel of that hair. She used to put her hand on his arm, very lightly, not even really touching the skin, to feel that wonderful feathery silkiness against her palm.

  She stared at the top of his golden head, at his strong shoulders and powerful back. The longing inside her was so strong right then—to reach out a hand, to touch. To say yes when he looked up with a certain question in his eyes.

  Every day, every hour, every moment they spent together, Jenna found it a little more difficult to resist the pull between them.

  He lifted his head. Her heart caught.

  But then he only laid his other cheek against his arm without ever actually looking up. She heard him sigh.

  And something inside her shifted.

  Or maybe something fell away—an obstacle, an obstruction. An old, deep pain giving up, letting go, stepping aside so she could see the truth.

  She was glad that he had come to find her. And glad that they were sharing this time together.

  Did she still love him?

  Oh, Lord. Probably. Most likely, she had never stopped.

  But at this point, it didn't really matter what kind of label she put on it. If she called it love, or just desire, or the longing to try again.

  What mattered was that up till now, she'd invested a lot of effort into keeping certain barriers between them.

  From now on, that would change.

  From now on, she intended to put heart, body and soul into tearing the barriers down.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  Mack could feel her watching him. He lifted his head.

  One look into those shining hazel eyes and he knew.

  So much for the damn separate rooms.

  She gave him a quivery smile. "Let's go in the water again."

  He couldn't right then. Everyone would have known exactly what was on his mind. "You go ahead."

  "Sure?"

  He nodded. He watched her walk toward the pool's edge, thinking she still looked every bit as good to him in the flesh as she'd looked in his dreams. She was slim and tall and she carried herself with a kind of quiet dignity he'd always admired. She wore a simple two-piece white suit that didn't reveal any more than it should. Wholesome. Yes. And achingly sexy at the same time.

  But it wasn't only the way she looked. It was something else. Something indefinable. Some sweetness he'd never encountered before or since. Some … openness to him.

  There had been other women. In the years without her.

  Some had been kind and warm and funny, like Jenna. Some hadn't. None had lasted very long. After a while they had only reminded him of how much he missed what he'd once had with her.

  She dived from the pool's edge, very neatly, cleaving the water with hardly a splash. Her crawl was as tidy as her dive, across the width of the pool and then back. She stopped near the edge, treading water, to trade a few words with a matronly woman in a flowered swim cap.

  By then, Mack had his arousal under control enough to push himself off the banana lounge and onto his feet.

  She looked his way and waved.

  He went to join her in the water.

  * * *

  They got back to the room at a little after seven, both still wet from a final dip in the pool. They had closed the curtains earlier against the afternoon glare, so the main room of the suite was shadowed and cool. Maybe too cool. Jenna had her towel wrapped around her shoulders. She gathered it tighter.

  "Why do they always think they have to keep it subzero in hotel rooms?" she asked through chattering teeth.

  "There is a way to deal with that."

  Her eyes widened. He knew what she thought
he had meant.

  And maybe he had. But just to be contrary, he turned and fiddled with the thermostat. "It should warm up in a minute or two." He turned back to find that she had closed the small distance between them.

  She was still shivering. He did the natural thing and pulled her close. It felt good. Right, as it always had. Her hair was wet silk against his cheek. She smelled of chlorine, a smell about as far from erotic as any smell could get—or at least, he'd always thought so until now.

  "Brr." She scrunched her shoulders, trying to get closer, He wrapped his arms a little tighter around her, enjoying the softness of her slim body beneath the towel, and waited for her shivers to subside.

  He felt no need to try to tempt her anymore. No impulse to seduce.

  Seduction, if there had actually been one, had already occurred. It had happened all by itself somehow, outside, by the pool, when they lay on those banana lounges, under the good, dry heat of the California sun.

  She was his now.

  No need to rush.

  The shivering stopped. He pulled back, rubbed his hands up and down her arms, over the nubby fabric of the towel. "Better?"

  "Mmm-hmm."

  Her mouth was too tempting, tipped up to him like that. He lowered his own, and hesitated, on the brink of the kiss they both hungered for.

  She said his name, "Mack," so softly. With such yearning.

  He kissed her.

  Her mouth was cold, turning warm, and warmer still. The sweetness beyond her lips was as it had been the other day, as he'd remembered for all these years. Incomparable. Perfect. Exactly suited to him.

  He slipped his hands under the towel to touch her. Moist and cool. Like satin, her skin. She sighed, and kissed him harder.

  They stood there by the door, between the thermostat and the gilt-framed mirror, kissing.

  It went on forever, that kiss.

  He was the one who pulled away. Gently. Reluctantly. He cupped her chin in both hands and his fingers tangled in the wet strands of her hair. He watched her eyelids open. She looked at him, a dazed and dreamy, utterly relaxed kind of look,

  He brought his mouth to hers again. "Are we done with separate rooms, then?" He murmured the words against her soft lips, so that saying them became another kiss.

  She smiled, and he felt that smile, her lips moving against his own. "Do you really have to ask?"

  "Maybe not. But I'd like to hear you say it."

  "It would please you—" each word was a kiss "—to hear me say it?"

  "It would please me. Very much,"

  "Then, yes," she said. "We're done with separate rooms."

  She let out a moan that heated the very air around them as he put his mouth against her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair at the same time and pulling her head back to expose her white throat.

  He kissed his way down, over the twin points of her collarbone, stopping there briefly to put out his tongue and taste the chlorine and the wonderful smooth sweetness that was her skin.

  He took the towel in both hands, peeling it over her shoulders. It dropped with a soft thud to the carpet at their feet. And then he went on, moving down, between the lush curves of her breasts. He pushed at the straps of her suit.

  She took his meaning, reaching behind herself, wriggling a little, until she had the top of that white suit unhooked. It fell away and he had her breasts in his hands. They were cool and damp, little goose bumps all over them. He buried his face between them, breathing deeply, remembering…

  All the times, their times together. His hands on her body, touching her, kissing her, thinking that she belonged to him, that he could never lose her, that it would always, always be that way.

  That they would be together.

  Forever.

  Together.

  He took her nipple into his mouth, drew on it. She surged up toward him, cradling his head in her hands, pulling him nearer, making little hungry, needful sounds, the sounds he remembered.

  The sounds he had longed for.

  For way too many years.

  He let his hands follow her tender curves, down over her torso, under the white waistband of her suit. She shuddered. And then her hands were there, too, helping him to push the thing off and away.

  At last she was naked.

  Naked in his arms.

  He traced a circle around her navel with a lazy finger. She moaned and ground her hips against him. His finger dipped lower, into the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. She lifted herself toward him. He touched her, intimately, feeling the heat and the wetness grow hotter and wetter still at the command of his stroking hand.

  She moved against him eagerly as he caressed her. He kissed her other breast, tasted the nipple as it hardened and bloomed. Then he went lower, his mouth sliding down. She put her hands on his shoulders, to brace herself—to brace them both—as he sank to his knees before her.

  "Mack."

  He looked up. And she was looking down, her eyes so dark, the pupils wide open, her mouth red and full from the kisses they had shared. Her still-wet hair fell in thick coils against her cheeks. She lifted both hands, a languorous movement, swaying on her feet a little, as she smoothed the wet strands back, behind her ears. Her full, sweet breasts rose and then settled with the action.

  "Mack…" She was still looking down at him.

  "Shh…"

  "No. No, listen. Mack, outside, by the pool. It was when I realized…"

  He laid his hands on the sleek swell of her hips, then slid them inward, so his thumbs met in the warm cove between her thighs.

  She gasped. He parted her slowly, gently, sliding his thumbs along the feminine crease beneath those golden curls.

  "Glad you came back…" She sighed. "So good … to be with you…" She gasped. "Mack. I did think it was over. I didn't think … there was a chance for us anymore…"

  "There's still a chance, Jenna."

  "I … I think so, too. Now."

  "Good." He leaned closer, scenting her. She moaned, gave up the effort to talk. She closed her eyes and clutched his shoulders harder.

  And he tasted her.

  It was something he had feared he might never know again … the taste of her.

  He kissed her deeply, using his fingers to part her. She cried out, and then began moving, her hips working, finding the rhythm that would give her the most pleasure. He held her steady as he went on kissing her, drawing on her with his mouth and stroking with his fingers as well.

  "Mack," she groaned, "Oh, Mack … I can't…" She stepped backward, He followed, not letting her go. She found the wall, beside the mirror, to brace herself.

  He kept tasting, kissing, stroking. And she surrendered completely at last, with the wall to hold her upright and her hands clutching his head, her body moving of its own volition, seeking the sweet explosion that would give her release.

  She cried out again, her head thrown back, as she went over the edge. And he tasted that, too. Felt the tiny nub of her sex pulsing hot against his tongue.

  She stiffened, her hips thrust toward him.

  And then, slowly, with a low purr of a laugh deep in her throat, she let her knees give way.

  Rising, he caught her before she reached the floor. She fell into his arms, soft and limp, no longer shivering, totally his. He turned her without effort, put an arm at her back and one under her knees and lifted her against his chest.

  She draped her long slim arms around his neck and nuzzled his ear. "Where are you taking me?"

  "To my bed."

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  The walls of Mack's room had been painted a deep maroon. The bed was king-size, with a hush black-and-gold-patterned spread. He had a west-facing window like the one in the main room, looking out on the beach and the harbor beyond. The black-and-gold curtains were open wide and the setting sun hovered, a ball of red fire, above the calm blue sea. The room seemed to burn with light.

  Mack laid Jenna on the bed a
nd turned to shut the curtains.

  She caught his wrist. "No. Leave it. I like it. It's like being inside a fire."

  He looked down at her, his gaze sweeping from her tangled damp hair all the way to her toes. Jenna felt her skin flushing, her nipples tightening, her whole body responding to the heat in that look.

  "Inside a fire…" he repeated, as if he found the words arousing.

  She rose on the bed, still holding his wrist, until she was kneeling there before him, on the black-and-gold coverlet.

  She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles. Then she ran her own fingers slowly up his arm, as she'd longed to do out by the pool, barely touching the skin, brushing the fine silky hair, making it rise.

  He bent forward, kissed her, their lips meeting so lightly, a butterfly of a kiss.

  She continued to caress him, sliding her hand past his elbow, over the hard swell of his biceps, to his shoulder—and then trailing the pads of her fingers down his side. She smiled when she touched the sensitive skin of his belly and he couldn't manage to hold back a gasp. Slowly, taking all the time in the world about it, she slid a finger under the waistband of his swim trunks. He gasped again.

  She pushed her hand farther under and made contact.

  A third gasp from him as her hand closed around him. He was so silky, so thick and hard. She smiled to herself. It made her feel powerful to hold him like that, in the palm of her hand,

  He muttered a low oath and dispensed with the swim trunks, ruthlessly shoving them down and away.

  Now she could touch him freely. And she did, curling her hand more firmly around him, stroking slowly, loving the feel of him, loving the way he closed his eyes and threw his head back, a deep moan escaping his parted lips.

  She bent closer, lowered her mouth to him and took him inside. He shuddered. She loved that, had always loved that, the feel of his big body shaking at her touch.

  He allowed her a few minutes of that kind of play. Then he caught her face in his hands and made her look up at him.

  "No more." His voice was ragged. "I'll lose it."