Carae's Touch (Long Line of Love, #4) (30 page)

"By kissing me until I hardly know who I am?"

"Hey! Is it my fault you have such sweet, luscious, kissable lips?"

"What?"

She bent her head and sensuously outlined his mouth with the tip of her tongue. "Hmmm. Your lips are warm and they taste sweeter than wine. A woman could get a natural high from kissing you alone."

"Sharde–"

"Shhh. Talking now is not in my game plan, handsome." She slowly licked his lips before finally pressing a last long kiss against his mouth. "Thank you."

He stared up at her, his eyes almost black.

The silence between them stretched on for several moments, during which time neither of them moved. Then, without any warning, he rolled them over. When they came to a stop, she lay on her back in the snow with him between her legs.

He was aroused. She could feel the unmistakable bulge pressing against her. The breath caught in her throat and her heart hammered so wildly she could barely breathe. With the snowing pelting down, stinging her face, she stared up at him, her lips parted, her arms holding him close.

"Jeff..." she whispered his name, her voice clearly conveying her raw need. She slid a hand down to cup his buns.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sharde?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

His eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his tone shattered any illusions she'd been nursing about him sharing her feelings. "You think I want to play house with you?"

The anger in his voice cooled her ardor. "You're aroused," she whispered.

"I'm human, but that doesn't change the fact that you've clearly taken leave of your senses!"

Her mouth worked, but no words emerged.

He pulled away and exploded to his feet.

She lay staring up at him, disappointment and hurt rushing through her. She'd overcome her natural inhibitions and thrown herself at him only to discover he didn't want her. Tears stung her eyes and tightened her throat.

He reached down, took her hands, and pulled her upright. Without waiting to see if she followed, he turned and made his way to the cabin.

She brushed the snow off her clothes. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she wrapped her arms around her body. Maybe that would keep the hurt tucked away inside her. If she managed that, she could pretend he hadn't just ripped her heart from her body and tossed it into the snow like so much refuse.

She closed her eyes and turned her face towards the sky, relishing the sting of sleet striking her skin. He'd made his lack of interest in her ultra clear. Now what was she supposed to do?

"Sharde?" A hand descended on her shoulder.

She shook it off and slowly turned to face him. "I'll sleep in the SUV."

"Don't be ridiculous. You'd freeze."

"Then you sleep there."

"Do I look like I'm interested in freezing to death?" He closed his hands over her arms. "It's too cold to hold this conversation out here. Come inside where we can talk without danger of freezing to death."

Taking Chances 1: Falling for Sharde is now available from marilynlee.org

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J
ohn Reddorn

Like most men I like pretty women. In my younger, lustier days I wouldn't have given Amber Hunt-Darkwater a short second glance. A long slow second one would have been out of the question. But by the time she and I met I'd had my fill of vain, high maintenance women who thought all they had to bring to a relationship was a slender body and a beautiful face.

Though I wasn't ready to admit it then, there was a black hole in my emotional life that left me dissatisfied and increasingly unhappy. I needed a woman in my life capable of exciting me emotionally as well as physically.

At forty-two, I'd spent the ten years since my divorce engaging in a series of meaningless relationships that were little more than extended one-night stands. For a while, I really enjoyed how being single again afforded me the freedom to sleep with a succession of beautiful women. However, once I stopped thinking exclusively with my third leg, I realized that something was missing. It took a few years for me to realize that none of my current or past relationships had ever met my emotional needs.

Not even with Julie, the beautiful woman I'd fallen into deep and instant lust with the moment I saw her and quickly married, had I been happy or even content for long. Our sexual chemistry was off the charts. Nevertheless, after a few years it was no longer enough for me. Even now, she was still gorgeous and capable of exciting me sexually but equally incapable of assuaging the inner ache that longed for more than just physical compatibility with a woman.

My grandfather often told my brothers and me that to be truly happy a man needed just one special woman in his life who would be his cher. He was fond of telling us to look deeper than the surface because a woman needn't possess physical beauty to command a mature man's heart for as long as she lived.

Granddad practiced what he preached. Although we all loved grandma dearly, no one could call her anything but very average looking. However, when the two were in the same room, it was difficult to find a moment when he wasn't gazing fondly in her direction. Anyone seeing them together knew she owned his heart.

The conviction that a man shouldn't judge a woman solely on her physical beauty was a sentiment echoed by Brandon Grayhawk, a family friend who was fond of telling me I would never be completely happy with any woman until I met and settled down with my sheenea. While we were both Native American, I was much more Americanized than Brandon and his family.

Despite hearing it from my grandfather and Brandon, I can't say I'd ever believed in the concept of a single woman who could meet both my sexual and emotional needs. Nor did the thought of marrying or even dating a plain Jane appeal to me. However, by the time I met Amber, I was open to the possibility of having a platonic relationship with a woman who didn't excite me sexually.

Having accepted the fact that I yearned for more than any pretty woman I'd ever bedded have given me, I decided to separate my needs into two components with a woman or women to share each part of my life. When I was horny I'd still want a pretty woman in my bed. But once my sexual needs had been filled, I wanted to spend more time with an intelligent woman who possessed a sense of humor. She should also be able to hold a decent conversation and know she had to work as hard as I did at maintaining a meaningful relationship. In other words, I was looking for a friend of the opposite sex with absolutely no sexual benefits sought or given to share the rest of my life with.

I had no idea where I'd find such a woman until the night I met Amber at a party given by our mutual friend Grace. I was blown away within seconds of our introduction.

"Amber, this is John Reddorn. Johnny, this is Amber Hunt-Darkwater."

Amber wore a dark red dress that fell below her knees and complimented her full-figured body. A simple gold chain drew attention to her large breasts. Everything about her was pleasingly dark: her hair, her eyes, and her skin. She had an amazing smile that lit up her eyes and transformed her face from plainness to worth a long, slow second look; several of them in fact.

She placed a soft warm hand in mine. "Hello Johnny or John?"

She had a sweet husky voice I could easily imagine myself listening to for hours without wishing she'd shut the fuck up and just take off her clothes. Her subtle perfume filled my nostrils and intoxicated my senses. Inexplicably thoughts of raw hot sex overwhelmed me. Get a grip, Reddorn. This is about friendship not sex.

I smiled and shook her hand. "My friends call me Johnny even though I prefer John."

"I've paired the two of you together for the night," Grace said. "So you might as well start getting to know each other now." She winked and left us alone by the open French doors of her living room.

"Johnny it is then," Amber said and laughed.

I liked her smile, the sound of her voice, her laughter, and the implication that we were going to be friends. I quickly dismissed the realization that even then I wanted more than friendship from her.

"Just kidding, John."

Standing there looking at her I struggled to convince myself that I'd be content to spend an enjoyable evening with her and then say good night without any sexual tension between us. That's what you want from her-friendship. Now all you have to do is convince a single, thirty something intriguing woman who is presumably looking for a romantic relationship that she and you should be platonic friends.

"Johnny is fine," I said.

"Yes he is," she said in a soft, suggestive voice that held enough emphasis to leave no doubt that she was flirting with me.

Although I was used to women coming onto me, the remark still surprised and pleased me. "What do your friends call you?"

"Amber." She smiled. "Well, some of my family and friends call me Am. Yes, I know not very original, but there you have it. We're a rather dull bunch."

Even on our very short acquaintance, I couldn't imagine anyone finding her dull. I sure as hell didn't. "Are you here alone?"

"As a matter of fact..." She suddenly glanced over her shoulder and then turned to stare across the room.

Frowning, I looked too. She seemed to be staring at a tall, well-dressed male with dark skin and hair who was talking to a pretty brunette. I suppose women would consider him attractive. The fact that I found her watching another man while with me annoying should have sent up a warning flare. However, I'd never met anyone like her and so had no idea what was already happening to me.

"Do you know him?" I asked, making an effort to keep all traces of annoyance from my voice.

She sighed. "Don't I wish?"

"You don't know him?"

"Yes and no."

"You either know him or you don't."

She cast a brief glance at me before turning her attention back to him. "We work together. So I know who he is and what he does for a living but I don't know him nearly as well as I would like to."

"What do you find so fascinating about him?"

"Are you serious?"

Damn right. I was also annoyed. "Absolutely."

"What's not fascinating? He's Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome personified."

I'd had more than one woman say the same about me. So why the hell was she staring at him instead of talking to me? "He seems fairly average looking to me."

She finally turned her attention back to me. "That's because you're a heterosexual male." She paused. "You are heterosexual? Aren't you? I can see that you're very male."

It was about damn time she acknowledged the fact that I was male and inclined to be far more attentive than the object of her interest appeared to be. Call me vain or conceited but I wasn't used to women ignoring me while showering their attention on other men. "I'm also very heterosexual."

"And single?" She turned to stare in Mr. Fascination's direction again, as if my answer wasn't important.

"Divorced and annoyed," I said.

"With me?"

"You're the one standing by me while staring at him," I said.

She surprised me by turning and slipping her arm through mine. "My apologies, John." She smiled up at me and squeezed my arm.

I was not placated. I removed my arm from hers. "If you're so interested in him, why don't you go talk to him?" I suggested.

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you go make him notice you?" She'd sure as hell made me notice her.

She nodded. "That was the game plan for tonight before Grace threw me a curve by pairing me with you instead of him."

Knowing she'd rather be with him than me stung when it shouldn't have. "Don't let me stand in your way."

She looked up at me. "You wouldn't mind?"

I stared at her, annoyed that she felt the need to ask that question. "Why should I?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I thought you might like my company."

Maybe I would if she could manage to tear her attention away from him. "Don't let me stand in your way," I said again.

"Who knows how to handle a man better than another man? I think you're right, Johnny. Excuse me." She pressed a quick kiss against the corner of my mouth.

While I suppressed an unwanted surge of desire, damn if she didn't leave me to waltz across to join him. When she reached him he turned to face her with what looked like a welcoming smile on his face.

Watching, I clenched my teeth. That suggestion was not one of your brighter ideas, Johnny boy. Now you get to watch while she charms him.

"Bless my soul. That's something you just don't see every day."

Making no effort to hide my annoyance, I turned to frown at Grace who'd walked across the room to stand at my side. "What soul?"

She laughed and slipped her arm through mine. "No need to get touchy, Johnny."

"What can I do for you?"

She tilted her head and looked up at me. "When was the last time a woman walked away from you to go chase another man?"

"It's been a while," I admitted.

She looked at me in silence for several moments. "You're pissed."

Grace and I had known each other since we were toddlers. There was no point in denying the obvious. I nodded.

"She's certainly not your usual type."

She certainly wasn't but the remark annoyed me because I felt she was implying I was incapable of finding an average looking woman worth my time.

She arched a brow. "But then maybe that's why you're interested."

I removed my arm from hers. "I don't recall saying I was interested."

"The I'd–like–to–kill–you–where–you–stand gaze you had trained on Dr. Marton said it for you."

So he was a doctor. Damn. Even though I could match bank balances with any doctor I'd ever met, single women were known to lose all semblance of common sense in the presence of an average looking unmarried doctor. There was something about the possibility of being a doctor's wife that got their thong in a bunch.

"Or maybe the fact that she'd rather be with him than you is what's pissing you off. You're not used to having competition."