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She went straight into his embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she said unsteadily. “I’m not very good at this. I guess I’m not good at it at all. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say after—after—”
Travis put his hand under her chin and raised her face to his.
“How about, ‘Good morning, Travis. Are you as glad to see me as I am to see you?’”
Her eyes searched his, and then she gave a tremulous smile.
“Are you? Glad to see me? Because—because really, if you just want to leave—”
He silenced her with a kiss.
“Confession time,” he said softly. “I’m not sure of what to say, either. I don’t—I don’t usually...” He cleared his throat. “Spending the entire night in a bed that isn’t my own isn’t something I’ve done very often.”
He watched her trying to make sense of what he’d said, saw her eyes widen when she did.
“Oh,” she said.
And blushed.
God Almighty, that blush!
“Well,” she said quickly, “you were—you were kind to do it. I mean, to stay because I—”
“I stayed because I hated the thought of leaving you.”
Her lips curved in a smile. What could he possibly do except kiss that smile? And kiss it again, when she sighed, put her hands on his chest and rose toward him.
He wanted to undress her.
Touch her.
Kiss her everywhere.
But she’d been so sick last night...She needed coffee. Food. Not sex.
Except, he didn’t want sex.
He wanted to make love to her...
Travis clasped her shoulders, ended the kiss, flashed a quick smile.
“Okay,” he said, yes, briskly, and if there was a word that went beyond “briskly,” he needed it now. “Time for breakfast.”
Her lashes rose. There was a blurred, dreamy look in her eyes.
“To hell with breakfast,” he growled, and he drew her against him and kissed her again and again, each kiss deeper, more demanding than the last until she was clinging to him for support, leaning into him, her hands twisted in his hair. “I want you,” he said against her mouth.
“That’s good,” she whispered. “Because I want you, too.”
His body, already hard, felt as if it might be turning to stone.
“Your headache...”
She gave a sexy little laugh.
“What headache?” she said, and he swung her into his arms and took her back to bed.
* * *
A couple of hours later, they were in his car, on their way to breakfast.
Well, to brunch.
When she’d said she couldn’t go with him, that she had to go get her car, he’d phoned the mechanic who worked with him on his ’Vette when it needed something, and asked him to stop by for her car keys.
She’d stayed in the bedroom when the guy showed up but she’d heard Travis describe her old, if honorable, vehicle.
“A tan two-door?” she’d heard the guy say with disbelief, and Travis had said, in solemn tones, that spending half an hour driving it would be good for the guy’s soul.
He’d come back to her, still chuckling.
Just remembering it made her smile.
Now she glanced at him from under the curve of her lashes.
They’d completely missed the hours when most people had breakfast.
Instead, they’d spent the time in each other’s arms.
And it had been wonderful.
At one point, when she’d sobbed his name and begged him to end the beautiful torment, he’d clasped her wrists, drawn her arms over her head, said—in a sexy growl that had only added to her excitement—that he was never going to end it, that he was going to keep her where she was, on the edge of that high, high precipice...
Even thinking about it made her a little breathless.
Was sex like this for everyone?
She knew it wasn’t.
The books said sex was different for all couples but she’d have known that anyway, because sex with Travis was—it was—
Really, there weren’t words to describe it.
She’d gone looking for sex.
For the experience of it, because—because time was closing down around her and she couldn’t let that happen without knowing what life had not yet shown her, because sex was supposed to be such a powerful part of your existence.
But she had not expected this.
The passion? The excitement? The clinical physiology of orgasm?
Yes, yes, and yes.
But the reality was...
Beyond description. Especially the wonder of those last few minutes when you felt—you felt as if you were drowning in sensation.
And the rest.
The way you reacted to the sound of your lover’s voice. His strength. His tenderness. The feel of his body under your hand, its taste on your mouth.
There was more. Much more, and some of it didn’t have a thing to do with sex. Like Travis’s smile, or his easy laughter.
Even the way he took control of things.
Of her.
She’d always thought that kind of behavior was male arrogance and, yes, her lover had an arrogance to him, but it wasn’t born out of pride or ego or aggression, it was born of the innate ability to lead.
Jennie glanced at him again.
Added to all that, he was beautiful.
She loved watching him.
He did everything with self-assurance. He even drove that way, as he was right now, his attention on the road, his hand light on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift...
On her hand, lying just beneath his.
What if she hadn’t stopped at that awful bar a week ago? What if Travis hadn’t been there? What if she hadn’t gone along with the game he’d initiated?
What if she’d let fearless Genevieve morph back into cautious Jennie, the Jennie who had not understood how quickly life could change?
Most of all...
Most of all, what if the years still stretched ahead of her, bright and golden in their clarity? What if she was like everyone else, able to reach out and take what she wanted without having to stop and remind herself that she had no right to do so?
Anger flared within her.
And she couldn’t afford that anger.
It was too devastating. Too crippling. It stole what little remained of moments and hours and days that might still be filled with happiness.
She’d learned that the hard way.
One minute, you were looking into a future of clear skies and bright promise...and the next, clouds had covered the sun and the future was looking at you, sneering, saying, Okay, lady, here I am, this is the way it’s really gonna be, and what are you gonna to do about it?
Crumple, had been her first reaction.
But then her alter-ego, for lack of a bet
ter term—and what better term would someone who’d taken that double major in psychology and sociology come up with—her alter-ego had said, Dammit, stand up and fight!
It didn’t change the end game, but it changed the way you got there, head bowed or head high...
“Hey.”
They’d pulled to the curb outside a restaurant. Travis was watching her, his dark eyes narrowed.
“Hey yourself,” she said, with what she hoped was a smile.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” she said brightly. Too brightly, perhaps, going by the intensity of his gaze.
“Tell me the truth, honey. Is that migraine back?”
“No. I’m good. Really.”
He looked at her for a long minute. Then he flashed that sexy smile, the one that seemed to melt her bones.
“Except when you’re bad,” he said huskily, “and you’re perfect, either way.”
She blushed.
He grinned.
“I love the way you do that.”
“Do what?”
“The way you blush.” He undid his seat belt, leaned in, undid hers and took her lips in a soft, sweet kiss. “It’s one hell of a turn-on.”
She blushed even harder. This time, his smile was wicked.
“Keep that up, we’re not going to get into the restaurant.”
He was right. They wouldn’t. If he smiled that way again, kissed her again...
“Jennie,” he said in a low voice, because what she was thinking was probably right in her eyes.
What she was feeling was probably only a heartbeat behind, and she couldn’t let him see that because it was impossibly out of the question, it was not what he’d signed on for and, oh God, it was far, far more than she’d ever even considered...
“You going to feed me, Wilde?” she said, reaching for the door handle, laughing in a way that she hoped didn’t sound as phony to him as it did to her. “Or let me swoon away from hunger right here, in your car, with everybody in Dallas walking by?”
“The only swooning I want you doing is the kind that happens when I take you in my arms,” he said.
But he wasn’t laughing.
Neither was she.
They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.
Then Travis cleared his throat, stepped out of the car and the world began spinning again.
