One Night With You (21 page)

"You haven't apologized yet," she said, trying hard not to throw herself into his arms in glorious abandon. His warm lips were wreaking havoc with her senses, and there was a bright bubble of happiness rising up from deep inside her, making it very difficult for her to keep a straight face. "On your knees, I think you said."

"Witch," he growled, but he started to slide to the floor.

"Oh, no, Jake, I was only teasing," she said as he began to sink to his knees in front of her. "Get up!" She tugged him to his feet. "I forgive you," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull his head down to hers.

Dorothea was right, she thought. Lust could turn into love—or, at least into liking. It was up to her now to turn it into something lasting.

She should tell him about Stephanie, she thought guiltily. Start out today with a clean slate. But not now, she told herself. Not this minute when she was so joyously happy. She'd do it later, when they had had time to build a firmer foundation of trust, when she had found just the right moment, the right words to tell him that he had a baby daughter.

"I forgive you anything... everything," she murmured fervently, just before his lips closed over hers.

I only hope you can forgive me as easily
, she prayed.

Chapter 11

Jake lifted his head a long moment later. "We'd better stop this," he said, and then immediately voided his words by nuzzling his face against the soft curve of her neck.

"Why?" Desi wanted to know.

"Because—" his lips were against her ear "—everyone is waiting for us on the sun porch. I told you we're all playing hooky today. Well, Dorothea has plans to conduct a tour of her wine cellars. Total participation is mandatory, she says." He kissed her closed eyelids. "So she sent me up here to get you out of bed."

Desi's eyes opened reluctantly, and she leaned back in the warm circle of his arms. "Do you mean to tell me that the entire household knows you're up here?"

"Yep." He grinned, his expression as playful and loving as it had been in that hotel room in San Francisco.

"You beast." She pushed against his chest. "I thought you said that nobody would know you were in this room unless I told them. I think you've deliberately ruined my reputation." She tsked. "What's Dorothea going to think?"

"That I've come to my senses, probably, and am doing what I should have done months ago. How does she put it in her book? A rowdy, rollicking tumble under the covers?"

"You haven't been up here long enough for that—" Desi began, her face beginning to turn a delicious shade of pink.

"Plenty long enough," he corrected her, pulling her back into his arms for another kiss. "Since your reputation is already ruined, what do you say we finish what we started?" He began edging them back toward the bed.

"Oh, no, you don't." Desi resisted him, digging in her heels, and he stopped to look down into her face.

"Why not? They already suspect the worst."

"They may
suspect
the worst," she admitted, twisting lightly out of his arms, "but I can still look Dorothea in the eye with a clear conscience."

"Dorothea doesn't care about a clear conscience. Haven't you read her book?" He made a move to recapture her.

"Oh, no, you don't," she repeated breathlessly, a little catch of laughter in her voice as she retreated to a far corner of the room. "You have to get out of this room. Now," she ordered, pointing at the door. "Go on. Out. I have to get dressed. We're supposed to be touring the wine cellars, remember?"

"I could help," he offered, grinning suggestively. "I'm very good with buttons."

"Lot of help you'd be," she jeered, laughing at him. "Now go."

"All right." He admitted defeat. "I'll go." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "But I'll be back for you later," he warned, disappearing into the hall. "When it's dark." His head reappeared around the edge of the door. "When you're alone. Asleep and unprotected. No one will hear your screams for mercy," he promised her.

"That's because I won't need to make any," she shot back.

"We'll see," he said. "We'll see." The door closed behind him, and she heard him whistling as he moved down the hall.

Desi hugged herself rapturously, doing a happy little dance step as she moved across the bare floor to toss her suitcases onto the bed.

It was going to be all right, she told herself joyously. It was all going to work out fine.

"You were right, Dorothea," she said aloud. "You were right."

Unlocking the suitcases, she began to rummage through them for something to wear. Nothing seemed appropriate. None of her usual jeans, not the loose boy-styled shirts or snug Tshirts seemed exactly right for today. She felt light as air, beautiful, ethereal...loved. Though he hadn't actually said the word, that's how she felt—loved. And she wanted to look that way. Too bad it wasn't dinnertime, she thought longingly. If it had been, then she could float down the stairs in her pastel silks with her hair curling down her back.

Jake had a thing about redheads, Dorothea said once. "That's wonderful—" Desi laughed aloud, as if she had only just realized it "—I'm a redhead."

She slipped out of her nightshirt, tossing it onto the clothes in her open suitcase and dug around until she found her favorite, most enticing set of underwear. Silky, powder-blue string bikini panties and a flimsy little camisole top, whisper sheer, that stopped, deliberately short, at the level of her navel.

She might look like a boy on the outside, but underneath she would be all enticing woman. And maybe, she giggled, just maybe, if she worked it right, Jake would see that, too. There were lots of places in a wine cellar where two people could accidentally get lost for a half an hour or so. Simple.

She stepped into the panties and pulled the wisp of sheer lace over her head. She'd wear her hair loose, too, she decided suddenly, instead of pinning it up into its usual topknot or neat braid. After all, she wasn't working today—and Jake liked her hair down. He'd said so.

"I've thought of how all that wild red hair curls so enticingly over your shoulders," he'd said, his voice husky with passion, his eyes dark and smoldering.

Desi shivered in remembered delight and anticipation and reached for a pair of knee socks. She tugged the fuzzy blue-and-pink striped socks on, pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped her arms into a powder-and-navy striped man-tailored. She brushed her hair, head down, until the unruly mass glowed like a shimmering coppery wave. Standing, she tossed its length over her shoulders and surveyed herself in the mirror.

A tiny frown creased her forehead. Something was missing. She stood, considering her image for a second or two, and then an impish smile curved her lips. Daringly she undid two more buttons than was usual for her, exposing the lacy edge of the pale-blue camisole.

"Not bad, Weston." She smiled at her reflection. "Not much, but not bad."

Suddenly her eyes caught those of her mirrored reflection and the smile faded from her face.

What are you so happy about
, those blue eyes seemed to ask her.
Nothing's really changed. You still haven't told him about Stephanie
.

"I will," she said out loud. "I will."

She turned away from the mirror abruptly, unable to face what she saw. She
would
tell him. Soon. As soon as they had had more time together, as soon as she was sure he loved her and that they had some kind of future together. Except... how would he feel in a week or a month from now, after you've developed this relationship and
then
you spring it on him? How will you break the news to him that he's a father?

"Oh, by the way, Jake. There's just one little thing I forgot to mention."

No. She had to tell him. And soon. Today. Or tomorrow at the latest. Yes, certainly tomorrow. She would give herself today to be happy. She would take today to bask in the glory of his warmth and tenderness and passion. And tomorrow she would somehow find the words to tell him.

She picked up her dinner tray from the floor to take it downstairs to Gerta.

"Everyone's still on the sun porch, waiting for you, Miss Weston," said the housekeeper when Desi handed her the tray. "It's out toward the back of the house." Gerta waved her out of the kitchen.

Desi wandered into a couple of wrong rooms—a banquet-sized dining room, then a library—before the sound of voices finally drew her in the right direction. She took a deep breath before pushing open the door to the glassed-in sun porch.

"Good morning, dear girl. I hope you slept well."

"Yes, fine. Thank you, Dorothea." She glanced around the table quickly. They were all there. Dorothea was charming in a chic red pantsuit. Michael wore casual in jeans and cowboy boots. Audrey was elegant and beautiful in a pair of cream-colored raw-silk pants and a matching sweater. And Jake was... Jake. Her eyes met his briefly, skittering away at his look of secret delight. "Morning everyone. Sorry I'm late."

"Well, come and have some coffee so we can get started," Dorothea ordered. "Or would you prefer tea? Eldin brought it up with him, so I assume it's probably drinkable."

"Tea, please, Dorothea." She moved around the table, a pleased smile curving her lips. "Hello, Eldin," she said, bending down to kiss his cheek. "I didn't see you sitting there when I came in. When did you arrive?" He looked a little pale but very English in his correct country tweeds, and she was glad to see him. "How are you feeling?"

"Just in time for breakfast," he answered her, "and I'm feeling quite the thing now. Quite." He looked up at her with fond concern in his brown eyes. "How are you, luv?"

"Fine," she told him, stealing a shy glance at Jake in his seat across the table. He grinned at her and patted the empty chair next to him. Suddenly her doubts were completely forgotten. "I feel just wonderful, Eldin."

Chapter 12

It was Jake, and not Desi, after all, who had managed to separate them from the rest of the group touring the shadowy cellars. He used the simple but effective expedient of pulling her with him behind one of the high wooden shelves of wine just as everyone else was moving away.

"Shush," he said, silencing her instinctive cry of surprise with his lips. It was several long breathless minutes before she could speak.

"What a lovely idea," she said with a sigh. "How did you ever think of it?"

"It's in Dorothea's book," he whispered. His hands were already busy with her buttons and hers had moved up under his sweat shirt, eager to caress the smooth bare skin of his back. "It drives me crazy, the way you dress," he growled. "Like a tomboy on the outside, but all morning I could see that little bit of lace peeking out from the top of your shirt, teasing me. You do it on purpose, don't you?"

"Yes." Desi giggled softly—and then she gasped as he pushed aside the material of her shirt, his hand brushing against her belly and up under the tiny blue camisole, to close possessively over one soft breast.

"Desiree," he breathed against her open mouth as his other hand sought the roundness of her hips, pulling her to his hardness. "You make me feel like a crazy teenager." He laughed, gently mocking himself and her and the situation in which they found themselves.

"We're going to get caught like teenagers, too," she warned him, breathless laughter in her own voice.

But neither of them heeded the warning. Instead they pressed closer together. Kissing and caressing feverishly like two lovesick teenagers in a parked car.

"Desi? Jake? Where are you?"

They heard Dorothea's voice and froze, stopping the helpless laughter against each other's necks.

"They must be around here somewhere," Dorothea said, her voice raised. She knew full well where they were and was giving them enough time to put themselves to rights before the whole group descended on them.

Jake moved quickly then, turning their bodies so that Desi's back was to the wall, shielded from view by the broadness of his. "You'd better hurry," he suggested in a voice choked with passion and laughter, as Desi fumbled with her buttons. "They're coming."