Sun Kissed (Crane Series) (8 page)

She had to tell him. Jen stared at the phone in her hand, drew yet another calming breath— she’d drawn so many she was starting to hyperventilate—and punched Mark’s home number. It was late at night and the house slept, so she knew she’d have the privacy she needed for this, the most dreaded conversation of her life. Mark answered on the second ring, dashing her craven hope that the service would pick up.

“Hi,” he said, sounding the same as always. “What’s up?”

I’m sleeping with someone else and am about to shatter your world. She’d liked Mark for being so straight and honest and dependable. Now she wished he had some skeletons in his closet, an unpaid parking fine, a library book a decade overdue, anything that would help him comprehend that nice people sometimes did horrible things to each other.

She drew in a breath and said, “Mark, I have to talk to you about something serious.” Her voice trembled a little, and she hated hearing it.

“What’s the matter?” he sounded worried, not suspicious. Of course.

“I don’t even know how to begin to explain this to you.” She sat on the bed and wrapped her free arm around her middle.

“Start at the beginning. It’s usually the best place.”

Oh, God, he was soothing her. He probably thought it was a work thing that had upset her. “You know how I really didn’t like Cameron Crane all that much when I first met him?” Her voice was wobbling even worse now.

“That bastard. What’s he done? You get on the next plane home. We don’t need his business that bad—”

“No. No! That’s not it. You don’t understand. I . . . Oh, Mark, I’m so sorry. I’ve done something awful to you.” There was silence on the other end. “Mark?”

“What is this awful thing?” His tone changed, and now she heard wariness.

“It’s Cameron Crane.”

“My God. You’re having an affair.”

He said it simply, the way he’d read out a newspaper headline he thought might interest her. But the word “affair” struck her as blatantly untrue and had nothing to do with the way she felt.

“No. I’m not having an affair. Well, I guess I am, but it’s not like an affair. I love him, Mark. I really love him. I’m so sorry.”

“I see.” Another silence.

Tears were running down her face. One dripped onto the bed and she watched as it spread into a damp patch. “I see? That’s all you have to say?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I’m thousands of miles away. I suggest we talk about it when you get home.”

“Mark, I can’t marry you. I’m in love with someone else.”

“I did grasp that fact. Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not okay. I’m shocked and right now I don’t think we can come to any kind of meaningful resolution. When you get home, we’ll talk about things sensibly.”

Suddenly, she wanted to scream. Sensible? What was sensible about love? If she were sensible, she’d marry Mark who had the same citizenship as she, worked in the same business, made similar money, and planned for things. She wouldn’t turn her life on its head because of a man who was different from her in every possible way. That didn’t mean she had a choice.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I wish I didn’t have to do this on the phone.”

“Why are you doing it on the phone? You’ll be home in less than a week.”

She doubted any man had ever been so cordial about being dumped. If she weren’t such an emotional wreck, she’d be half smiling. Mark’s question was a good one. Why had she been in such a hurry to tell him that she would have this conversation over the phone? If Mark deserved anything, he deserved the truth. She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

“I only have a few days left with him. I wanted them to be unhampered by guilt. I’m sorry I had to hurt you, and do it over the phone, but now I can be open and honest about my feelings.”

“You don’t seriously think a man with his reputation is going to marry you, do you?”

“No,” she sniffed. “This isn’t for him. It’s for me.”

There was a long sigh, and for the first time she heard pain. “I’ll talk to you when you get home.”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” she said again, but it was too late. He’d hung up. Her former fiancé had hung up on her.

Cam couldn’t sleep. Jen had refused to share his bed tonight on some hastily muttered excuse, and he hated being in the great stupid thing alone knowing she was in the house somewhere. He’d thought at first she was getting her period, but when he asked her all he got was a snooty glare down the nose. He stared up at the dark ceiling, wanting that woman with every pore of his body. Not just for sex, which was surprising in itself, but simply to feel her there beside him in the dark.

He sort of wanted to talk to her. Not about anything much, simply chatter nonsense back and forth. He wanted to hear her voice in the darkness. Feel her living and breathing beside him. Was she pissed off with him about something? Maybe that’s why she wasn’t beside him. Never one to put off until tomorrow what he could do right this second, he rolled out of bed. He was at the door before he thought Jen might not want him barging in on her in the nudey if she was pissed off at him. He walked into his closet looking for a robe, remembered he didn’t own one, and shoved himself into footie shorts and a T-shirt before heading off in search of his woman.

His bare feet made no sound on the carpet as he approached Jen’s room and tried to work out how he should approach her. It would help if he knew why she was angry with him, but he was buggered if he could work out what he’d done. Of course, that was nothing new. He made women angry with him all the time and often had no clue why. He was about to knock softly on her closed door when he heard her voice. In the quiet house, he could hear her words as plain as day.

“You know how I really didn’t like Cameron Crane all that much when I first met him?” he heard her say.

What on earth had he done that she was on the phone in the middle of the night moaning about him? And if she was calling at this time of night, she must be telling people on the other side of the world what a shit he was. Without telling him first?

He was about to barge in and demand an explanation when he heard her say, “Oh, Mark,” and he realized she sounded weepy.

Having the guilts that she was having it off while the better half stayed home? Bitterness crawled up his throat and he started to turn away, only to hear her say, “No. I’m not having an affair. Well, I guess I am, but it’s not like an affair. I love him, Mark. I’m so sorry.”

Cam felt as though he’d taken a full body tackle. For a moment his head felt funny, and his knees threatened to give out. She loved him? Shamelessly, he stayed where he was and listened to the rest of the conversation and heard her break off her engagement. Because she loved him, Cameron Crane. Through the numbness stole a feeling of warmth. And then the prickling sweat of panic because Jennifer Talbot was a forever kind of woman.

It wasn’t a very long conversation going on behind Jen’s bedroom door and when it was done he was amazed at this Mark who could let her go with so little fuss. If Jen was dumping
him
for another bloke, he’d leave his rival in a heap of broken bones before he’d let her go. His first instinct was to throw open the door and take the noisily weeping woman into his arms. For once, he stopped for a moment to think. She loved him. Silently, he took his hand away from her door and headed downstairs to his office, knowing he’d never sleep now.

Had he planned for her to fall in love with him? He didn’t recall giving the matter much thought. Certainly he’d planned on getting her into his bed, though he was certain she’d known all along of his plan and come to him on her agenda, not his. Still, if anyone had asked him a few weeks ago whether he wanted a smart, sassy, uptight Yank powerhouse falling in love with him, he’d have grinned and said, “Bloody oath.” Now she had. His smart, sexy powerhouse had fallen in love with him and he didn’t feel the thrill of victory. He thought what he felt was a pang of fear.

He slipped into his office, closed the door, and flipped on his desk lamp. When he was unsettled, there was always work. He understood himself enough to accept that his business success was what gave him most of his self-esteem. It grounded him and was a reliable place to hide from anything he didn’t want to face. Like the sounds coming from behind the bedroom door, and the phone conversation he’d overheard. He’d work a few hours. Make more money. Ensure even greater success, putting yet more distance between the Cameron Crane whose name appeared frequently in the financial pages of the Sydney Morning Herald and the boy who’d left school at sixteen with nothing but a burning ambition.

He focused on goals, he achieved them, he moved on. He’d always done the same with women. He chose them, pursued them, enjoyed them, moved on. They didn’t fall in love with him. It wasn’t part of the game. He reached absently for the door handle of the small fridge on which his computer printer sat, opened it, and grabbed himself a beer. The good old amber nectar felt good going down as he seated himself and with his free hand reached automatically for the closest folder on his desk. He almost spewed his ale at the sight that greeted him when he flipped open the cover on the manila folder. Blown up glossies of the pretty boy Jen had salivated over in his office stared up at him. The bloke she wanted for their US spokesman.

Once more his stomach churned, but this time he realized that he wanted to plow pretty boy’s nose down his throat, and not out of any personal vendetta—the man looked as though he knew how to fight back, always an asset in Cam’s opinion. No. His trouble stemmed from Jen’s enthusiasm. Flipping through the photos didn’t help. In his mind’s eye he could see her face, hear her voice as she’d gushed over her perfect choice.

“Jealousy, mate. That’s what this is,” he said to himself, finally labeling an emotion as unwelcome as it was unfamiliar. Jealous. He was jealous. Jennifer Talbot would be flying home soon to her life on the other side of the world where the coffee was decaf, the footballers wore padding, and he’d heard even the men were getting facials. If he signed off on this final part of the proposal, she’d go ahead with focus groups and some other nonsense to shape this man who’d come to Crane after a packing job into California’s idea of an Aussie surfie.

The cold beer couldn’t douse the uncomfortable heat in his belly anymore. He didn’t want Jen going home next week as planned. Damn it, he wasn’t nearly finished with her yet. But how could he stop her from going back? He tapped the file folder in front of him as though it were a treasure chest. He could make her stay. She was terrific at her job. He’d talk her into taking over the marketing right here in Oz. He smacked his hands together as the idea struck him, blinding in its brilliance. Somebody else could groom pretty boy.

Jennifer was needed for more important work right here. What more important work? Hmm. Bit of a flaw in his plan there. His company already had the giant’s portion of the domestic market, and a complete marketing and advertising schedule for the next twelve months —which Jennifer knew because he’d shared it with her. No way she’d believe he needed her for work here. Besides, she likely had other clients in need of her services back at home. Rubbing the back of his neck, he decided he’d simply have to dream something up for her. He’d leaped higher hurdles in his life—plenty of them—and never fallen flat on his face. One sexy woman with a funny accent and a posh wardrobe wasn’t going to stop him.

Well, she loved him, didn’t she? She’d said so, so she’d be looking for any excuse to stay with him, just as he was looking for excuses to keep her around. At least until they got fed up with each other. Feeling a lot calmer now that he had a way to keep Jen around a little longer, he grew sleepy and anxious to feel her body naked against his. Not for sex, simply for the pleasure of having her there. He’d not mention the business of her broken engagement, but find an excuse for them to stay together longer, which he was certain she’d agree to. Then, when their passion had worn itself out, as it would in due course, they’d go their separate—as in half a world apart—ways.

Creeping up the stairs, he headed once more for her room, unsure as yet what he’d do if she was still crying. He dreaded tears as much as every other man he knew, but he also found he couldn’t leave her to sob all night. But when he got there, he found her door ajar and no sounds of woe coming from inside Jen’s room. Cautious, in case she should be asleep, he pushed the door open farther. Even before he crept in for a closer look he was certain she wasn’t in the room. Her scent didn’t greet him, nor did the comforting feel of her presence. Sure enough, when he padded to the bed he found it empty. She wasn’t in the adjoining bathroom, either. The door was wide open and it was empty.

Puzzled now, he headed for his own room, and the instant he entered it he felt her there. Smelled the warm, sweet woman smell of her skin. When he held his breath he could hear her tiny huffing sounds of sleep. He smiled as he shucked his clothes and crawled into bed. She slept on her side, facing away from him, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and tucked her into the curve of his own body. Some kind of short silky thing stood between her and nakedness but he reached up until he felt the warm curve of breast and, with his nose just touching the splash of hair fanning onto her pillow, he fell into deep and dreamless sleep.

Sometime in the night she sighed and shifted. The flimsy bit of silk had ridden up so the rub of her bare bottom against his cock woke him instantly. She shifted again, and he wondered if she were really as innocently asleep as she seemed. He rubbed back, his body rapidly rising to the challenge. Without a word, she tilted her hips, inviting him into her body. He slipped in just as quietly, with no fanfare, just a sliding sense of rightness. Right fit, right feel. Right woman. As he stroked, rhythmically and half sleepily into her, he ran a hand up her side, up the arm that was above her on the pillow, until they could link fingers. Only then did it hit him—old Cam Crane, usually so quick off the mark, so sly to catch a hint—that her ring finger was bare. She hadn’t yanked that diamond off her finger last night. It must have been before she broke off with her bloke back home. He felt her fingers clutch him tight, as tight as her slick heat clutched his cock. Somehow, it was all related. She was wrapped around him everywhere, even, he suspected, around his heart.